Worse than a pair of Handcuffs
by Donrocs1
Summary: What do you get when you throw a pre-war guy, named Sanford Tobs, into a suit of X-01 Power Armor, pair him up with a crazy Mr. Gutsy robot that is obsessed with the destruction of Communists, and a French-speaking Deathclaw? Add in a crazed Superintendent from the Enclave, Super Mutants, and you have a scene that's...-WTAPH. AU
1. Chapter 1

_**This story has a photomanipulation poster on Deviantart, give it a look. Check out my Blog or follow me on Twitter if you want updates on all my work.**_

 _ **Thanks for reading, have an awesome-sauce day**_

 _ **~Don**_

 **CHAPTER 1**

 **Close your eyes, and your life is over for a new one.**

* * *

As a small boy, one day he had heard the loudest, muffled bang.

It was an explosion, sharp, and echoing, that reverberated down the streets of his urban development, bounced off the aluminum shed his father had built behind the house, and shook all the US Army models on his nightstand.

It was a sound, that was completely foreign to his sheltered life, and thus, it was a sound, that in his youth, had terrified him as the merits of propaganda would enact.

Propaganda, that spewed the relevance of war to the point, where the origin of said boom, a broken power transformer, filled a child with fear over the possibility of a detonated warhead.

That single sound had never left his memory, not because of the irony of its presentation, but because of what its presentation had come off to him as.

Years passed and childhood came and went, young adulthood sprang forth, and at the ripe age of twenty-five, he had heard the sound again.

Years upon years since that stupid blown out transformer, the man remembered the sharp throttle of disturbed air like he had heard it in his race-car bed yesterday. Except on that fine, fine Saturday afternoon, it was not a damaged powerline that made the residual explosion.

Standing atop the metal entrance of a great underground warren, the steel silo leading to the depths below was rattled, and the young man was nearly thrown off to the surrounding earth by a blinding wave of sheer energy.

The guards that had tried to reach him after he hopped the fence were literally flung away like cheap toys from an angry toddler's hand, the registered citizens around him collapsed over each other.

Reaching out for his parents, they huddled together over the receding lift, under the hundreds of panicking souls.

At this day, that explosion was permanently branded within young Sanford's mind.

At this day, the world ended, and Sanford and his family were thrown into mechanical pods, and ice overtook his awake self.

From the first days of his life, Sanford Tobs was afraid of being enveloped in ice, it was a phobia, it was why he never gave into peer-pressure for walking on frozen lakes. So as his parents in their respective chambers vanished from his sight, Sanford's vitals flared dangerously in hyperventilation before the quick freeze, literally saved him.

All that he saw before black was a small metal tab on the inside of the pod's receding door.

It read VAULT-TEC.

He had lived in a family of three bodies, himself, his mother and father, parents that any child of the world would ask for. They supported him, gave him a good overlook on responsibility, they taught him to be a human being.

Raised from such stock, it was no wonder that when Sanford woke from his slumber, he was ill prepared to simply BLEND IN with the new population of his home.

Once spread vibrantly with agriculture and centralized urban sprawls, the great city of Boston was reduced to a field of rubble, scorched earth and death. Sanford stumbled out of his water-leaking pod a hacking mess.

His parents' pods were empty, the other pods held something that, at first, had made him stare in horror- But later on, would be a grim commonality for his new life.

The dead.

Corpses.

Cadavers.

Skeletons encased in frost.

Sanford's first taste of inflicted death, an element that would consume half his very existence in the future- Was using a dislodged pipe to beat the guts out of giant cockroaches infesting the Vault's interior.

His arms flared, he felt resistance whenever the pipe dug into a radroach's head or thorax, or whenever he missed and hit a bulkhead.

One of them bit him in the calf, so THAT was his first ounce of pain in the new world.

Eventually, he escaped the dreaded underground cemetery intended to save the lives of those it had entombed, doubled over from the sunlight screaming in his face, and fell to his knees when he saw his decimated, rotting neighborhood.

Old man Harry's farm was a flat plain in the backdrop, the woods was a maze of black, finger-thin trunks, the houses on Gregory Street were buried in a massive pile of debris spanning a mile.

The other houses were either squashed in their centers, like a god had pressed a finger into their spines- or they were blown into rubble from the left or right. Others that had fared better were hollow shells, and rusted cars gridded the land.

This was what was left after the fallout.

THIS, was why he had feared the sound of explosions for years on end.

This was his new life.

Months passed of struggled survival, he let opportunities go that no experienced wastelander in their right mind would shrug away, he was almost killed more times than he could count against things the skilled people out here scoffed at.

Sanford had it rough for a very long time, he made little allies, angered some people, and nearly died for that as well.

Seeing all the death and destruction around him made his anger flare, not only at his ass-end of the deal, but for the fact that innocent people had been murdered around him, justice doers had failed in his presence, and evil freaks had stepped around him musingly.

He was insignificant, a spec, and the destroyed world decayed with or without him.

So Sanford vowed to change.

He taught himself how to scavenge, procure water and food, how to hunt, he stole guns from battlefields between the worst of the worst- Snagging pipe rifles from dead Raiders even as the victorious Supermutants picked through the corpses.

For a good while, he shifted from a weakling and coward, to one who stuck to the shadows to get the job done.

Sanford's first kill, his REAL kill outside a roach, big bug or rodent, was a Raider that had found him slinking on the outskirts of his respective band's camp.

Sanford used a machete he'd looted, and, in all his time out in this new hell, he had never been COVERED in blood before. Yet his utilization of said blade earned him exactly as such, because the Raider's throat opened.

Despite the obvious of what, of WHOM he had killed, Sanford was shaken by the victory.

And then, like he had brushed off his ineffectiveness prior, he brushed off the shell-shock of his blade's work.

Two nights later, he went back to that camp and killed all of his first victim's buddies with an assortment of scavenged arms.

Considering his newfound bravery, Sanford decided that his greatest skills of survival would be those of combat, and combat with no others but HIMSELF out of that. It had been a while since his 'Rookie' persona had been extinguished.

Now that was not to say he was a veteran or a 'Master' in the wastes, because he was far from it, but, Sanford knew his way around, he knew how to fight, he knew how to kill, how to gather resources, barter, and when to pull the guns, and when to keep them stowed.

It was the same deal as every day in this God-forsaken dump.

Stay alive, kill anything that gets in your way with force.

IF, there was a peaceful solution- Usually there wasn't- But if there was, than follow through with that.

The big word in that being IF.

If, if, if...

There were a lot of 'If's' in the ruins of Boston.

If he could get ammo...

If he could get weapons...

If he could get food...

If he could navigate this...

Navigate that...

If, if, IF and more freaking IF.

Nothing was certain.

"-But I'll figure it out." He always told himself.

"I'll figure it out, as soon as I can find my way out of this damn block..."

That last line, though, was a bit more specific in its aim.

For, mind you, this interval of time that Sanford has SAID that in, was long after the initiation described hence forth.

It was long after he had been introduced to the fallout, and it was certainly LONG long after, he had started trekking the wastes. Again, he was no master, notorious badass, but even one with his experience and more ran into difficulties.

Blowing a frustrated sigh from his mouth, Sanford's arms raised and flopped back down to his hips in a sure sign of annoyance, his eyes locked on a gigantic mound of tumbled masonry debris that, with no exaggeration, spread like a tidal wave across half the zone he stood in.

Deep in the streets of what was once human civilization, dangers hid in every dark corner and crevice, and people vanished without sure cause just as much as confirmed being torn to ribbons.

Now here was the kicker, there were all these things in Boston that would have tried to eat him, kill him for the hell of it, rob him and murder him, and out of all those possibilities, Sanford was currently meeting resistance from rocks.

Climactic, huh? Story of his life, he supposed...

"My damn luck!" He cursed, reaching down to snag his fingers around a sharp blade of stone, he stood back up, and hurled it with a fling of his arm into the massive collapse of building material, where it clacked away in a hollow tumble somewhere in the array.

"All the maps I've seen, all the people I've talked to, put it RIGHT here! Right here! Right... Here..." The young man looked down at his boots, scavenged, of course, and indented his brow. "-I'm a disaster at this."

There was no shame in admitting the truth, in his eyes.

Sanford Tobs had long been under the illusion, perhaps, the VISION, more generously- That an old abandoned vehicle, an Armored Personnel Carrier- To be precise, had been buried in this destroyed block, and that no one who had found it, had been able to crack it.

Now Sanford didn't hold much confidence that HE would have been the one to break into it, because, according to some merchants he'd asked, there were a bunch of Raider punks a few weeks back that tried to blow the thing open with an RPG.

BUT, a possible find of resources, was exactly that- A possible find of resources, and any attempt to be made, should have been made. Weapons, ammo, food or water, it was valuable, and you'd be a complete douchebag to not at least TRY at it.

Sanford creased his lip corner and folded his hands behind his back.

"This month has been going to absolute hell..."

Surrounding him like cackling crowds of scoffers, apartment complexes were open and blasted, sunlight flickered through a hundred broken windows, and across gaps in completely caved in crevices scything down their sides like giant tears.

Rusted automobiles gridded the pavement and street that ended in this collapsed cap, and to make it seem more hopeless, there was a whole eighteen-wheeler truck that was buried all the way from the rear of its trailer, to the back of the cab.

It stuck out there, laughing at him with its busted bumper.

"Aw, heck on all you..." Sanford sighed.

Turning on a swift heel, Mr. Tobs had a grim expression whilst he stomped back down the streets he'd come, bypassing the ruined clutter of long lost metropolitan eases.

He was too hard on himself, he knew. And the only way he'd survive is if he followed his own adapting advice.

But that became harder as time rolled.

The good news was, it was mid-afternoon, and while he'd rather NOT be walking around the ruins of the city at all, it was better than during the turf-wars at night.

Sometimes he wondered how so many Raiders were rampaging around despite the unbelievable attrition they took.

Instances like the prior mentioned RPG-attempt made him question it overall, and, the uncomforting answer was simple- The Raiders were a civilization all their own, mobs and warbands of heartless people, RAISED by heartless people, that fought each other when prey ran low, and allied together when it was convenient.

"I'll figure it out..." He reminded himself in a mutter. "-I'll figure it out, and I'll get better, and I'll survive."

Like so many other lonely souls in the wastes, he had no one to talk to about these things.

At least, in an organic sense...

 _ **CLACK**_

 _ **SHKSK**_

"-There you are, sir! I have good news and bad news! And they all involve the usual triumph that is US!"

-When it came to robotics, Sanford DID at least have a buddy there.

Even if said buddy WAS a little whacky.

Scrambling from around a ruined pile of bricks vomited forth from a breached hardware store front, a levitating, cylindrically sphere-capped robot with three lens-like ocular tools whirred in the air roughly to shake off a thin coat of dust and lodged pebbles.

Sanford stopped in his walk down the street, raising a brow as his friend wrung his metal hide to and fro a last time, blinked all his eye-lenses at once, and hurried over with an excited bob in his flying.

"Triumph, huh?" Sanford rolled his eyes from the statement made. "-What 'Victory' this time, Hancock?"

Painted in faded drab, and still holding a five-armed shadow on his frontal plating that was once a blasted United States Army star, Hancock's rear storage unit popped open with a clink of metallic bolts, the robot's servo-claw- His second limb of three- reaching back to fiddle.

"I've the utmost happiness to inform you that I, Hancock, model 22210 of- FORMER!- U.S.A.A. 5th Infantry Division, have discovered the key to salvation!"

"You found the APC?!" Sanford became excited for a brief moment.

"-By Kennedy, NO! Negative! Nuh-uh! Didn't find diddly-squat with that ole' mission..." The robot would have rolled its lenses if they worked like human eyes, retracted its claw, and flung out a mess of rusty gears and sprockets that skittered away to the pavement at the man's feet.

 _ **CLICK CLICK click clk clk...**_

"Now I KNOW I have the bugger in here, somewhere..."

"So then, Han'... Was that the bad or the good news?"

"To those mother-lovin' commies, I suppose it'd be the GOOD news, huh?!"

"Still hung on the communists?"

"Buggers may all be dead, but I still need confidence when I shoot some poor schmuck dead! And I feel at my BRIGHTEST for UNCLE-Sam, when I envision bloodied Reds around every corner! LIBERTY!"

"The Army ever have a- 'Keep it the hell down'- Doctrine? Huh?"

"Nope."

"Your simplest answer yet... What are you digging around back there for, buddy?"

"I, have found something that I believe, we placate your-" Hancock cut himself off with a light tug, brought his claw back around, and retracted slightly to a greasy container of long rotted take-out food.

Sanford's eyes bugged and he reclined at the stench.

"Meh, the first thing ta-go is the mind, but THEN, well, pride doesn't speak clearly from the mouth of men the specifics..."

"Couldn't say I know- Now, throw that away! Good God! How OLD is that?!"

"Approximate date places organic material for preparation at- 2177, September 3rd, 10:17 Eastern-Standard Time!"

"You have one-hundred year old Chinese-food in your storage?"

"Normally, I'd remember my training when questioned under penalty by an officer... We had elaborate excuses in 'Nam..."

"You weren't IN, 'Nam, Han'... But, what's the 'Excuse' this time then?"

"Honest and truly?"

"Sure."

"...Hmm..." Hancock wiggled the sickly squelching container in his grip, and flung it to the right where it vanished in a nasty splat behind the hardware store window-ledge. "-Oops."

"Original."

"Very. Now, sir, for my find..."

"Uh-huh. I'm sure it's grand..."

"Grander than a Sheridan cutting down a T-Series tank!"

"-On with it, man!"

"-Aaaannnndd- HA! Victory!"

With a final swipe, Hancock came back holding a gun in his claw.

Sanford cocked his head at the firearm-shaped object, with a gunmetal-colored handle and marksman stock, a battery mid-rear its elongated nose, and a barrel that had crystal amplifiers welded into it to further a beam of energy.

It was, though dusty and dented, a relatively unused Laser-based weapon, a rifle, and it even had a scope.

Yet how this bulky thing FIT inside the tiny box in Hancock's rear chassis was beyond him... And probably beyond Hancock- It was beside the point.

"We'll take the fight to Leningrad with this babe! Eh?"

"Nice find, Han'! I'll think twice about doubting you next time!"

"Damn straight! We commandos gotta' keep the trust of Democracy, why not keep the trust with our pals'?"

"-You're hopeless..." Sanford teased, reaching out to take hold of the rifle, he held it properly, reaching up to dust the lens of the scope with a spin of his thumb's print. "It needs some fixing, but this is great."

"Hancock strikes again!"

"Indeed. At least this trip wasn't a complete waste of time..."

"Permission to speak freely? Sir?"

"How many times do I have-You know, alright-Fine FINE! Permission granted... Happy?"

"Quite! Now with all due respect, I think you're being too hard on yourself. Sir."

"You always say that..."

"Affirmative."

"Well my robotic-social-worker friend, we're out, let's head back to the shop."

"The Barracks beckon! I can already taste the steak-n-eggs! HOO-RAH!"

"Steak and eggs, mmhmm..."

"Would ya' rather me be like one of those 'Handy'-wimps and advertise breakfast cereal?!"

"No... I'll admit that's a worse nightmare."

"Besides, those civilian models are grade-A, sister-slappin', father-kickin', bed-wettin' pussies!"

"I'll be sure to find one and tether him or her to you..."

"Bah! Worse than a pair of handcuffs! You dog!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2.**

 **When Your Home's a Gas Station.**

* * *

The highways that once linked all the industrial sectors of Boston and Worcester, and ringed alongside winding railroads, were now nothing more than dusty shells of their original capability.

Guard rails browned with rust and caked dirt wilted like dying serpents on the sides of the roads, those stupid, looming, dead cars of the old world dotted everywhere, trucks still lay on their sides or in ravines when their great bulk could not stand to the nuclear devastation.

Military vehicles also thinly stuck out in the landscape, and some of them were older than others.

Sanford had heard the Military had tried to regain stability before its inevitable disbanding after the war, soldiers in experimental power armor stalked by small columns of armored vehicles, utility platforms and even some tanks.

That was generations ago, but, the point was, some of these army wrecks hadn't been partially buried from their sheer weight for as long as the city of Boston itself.

Nowadays it was useless to try and salvage anything from the cars or the military pieces sprawled around, as they had all been stripped and re-stripped multiple times throughout the years, most of them noticeably didn't even have engine blocks anymore.

The sun shone brightly in the cloudless sky above the rolling, dirty hills that were jutted with rows of dead or mutated tree husks, brown and grayed ferns hugged the land like wads of fur, and the shadows of hollowed buildings hung everywhere.

There was no ambience other than the hissing of the wind, the occasional scavenger bird.

Earth had really been reduced to a dump, and a BIG one at that.

"You know, strolls like this would have been all the rage with the boys in Guam..." Hancock ranted. "-Cept', ya' know, without the constant risk of getting shot, or eatin' by shit..."

"Great morale-booster there." Sanford said sarcastically with a slump in his shoulders.

"Morale is for women!"

"Sexist."

"Mother-lovin' commie!"

"Screaming, airborne trash-can."

"Banana-suckin' primate!"

"Bolt-rattling, tin-can."

"Hairy meatsack!"

"Cracked cesspool tank..."

"MONKEY!"

Sanford stopped in his trotting, turned slowly to the flying robot, and grinned evilly over his shoulder.

"OB-SO-LETE."

"Herbivore-lov'-" Hancock went silent, lowered in his flight a tad, and narrowed the lenses of his eye

apparatus's. "YOU, are a cold, COLD little man..."

"I do my best."

"A-HA! HA! A comedian! Ha-ha! Shut your mouth, monkey-savant!"

" _Oh boo-hoo, the talking wood-chipper was mean too me! Mommy!_ " Sanford whined in mockery, frilling his hands in the air over-dramatically.

"I'll set you on FIRE."

"Who's gonna fix you then, Han'? YOU? I think not."

"I'll find a mechanic! Or a plumber! Or an engineer!"

"Where? At the TOILET-Store?"

"FINE! Be that way, you hell-wench!"

"Violent."

"-And daaaammmmnnnn-effective at it!"

"Supreme killer..."

"Hancock and Sanford! The duo to undo all DUOS!"

"Get a grip!"

"-Of the world's throat?! YESSIR!"

"Ugh..."

Sanford's only friend wasn't garnered into his daily grind in a... 'Normal' fashion, as one might describe meeting a long time companion.

'Normal' being, you were walking down the street one day, bumped into some dude, and struck up a conversation with him after the initial apology, and, BAM, a few years later and you're both still hanging around.

'Normal' being, you're eating lunch one day and somebody asks to sit with you because all the other tables are full, you strike conversation city, and-PRESTO! Friends for life!

'NORMAL' being anything OTHER, than how Sanford was introduced to the Mr. Gutsy robotic mayhem-spree that was Hancock.

After all, being locked in battle with a giant, bloodthirsty mutated bear, and spontaneously having the thing explode into a red wad of giblets right as it gained ground on you- Was a pretty dramatic switch of the turned tables.

All of a sudden this freaky military robot swings around the corner, laughs about 'Mother-lovin' commies' and bathes the dismembered monster in flames from a handy thrower for a third arm- So before you know it-

BAM!

PRESTO!

-Whatever examples he had thought of before...

THAT, was where Hancock and Sanford came from, the team to beat all teams, according to the robot.

Heck, maybe if Sanford wasn't so in the dumps, he might have agreed with the Mr. Gutsy's summation.

"So, cappy-tonn," Hancock started. "-The plan for our newest toy of freedom?"

"Fix it, put some better internal parts in it, readjust the sights, clean it, shoot stuff with it."

"Simplistic. I LIKE it!"

"We'll start to rake it in, Han', I know it."

"I have full confidence in our bloodthirstiness, sir! My only concern is, when will our next victim come up!"

Sanford waved an arm about the surrounding wastes.

"Do you see anything?"

"Negative."

"Well then, our next 'Victims' are not for now..."

"Drats upon drats in Roosevelt's suit pocket."

"Lemme ask you, Han',"

"Aye, sir?"

"When was the last time we came across people? FRIENDLY people? Besides the merchants and the occasional traveler... I can't remember the last time I just... Socialized..."

"Socialization is for pansies."

"Seriously for a second? Han'? It's bugging me... It'll... It'll effect my COMBAT ETHIC, eh?" He tried to get the robot to realize the sincerity he asked with, maybe foolishly.

Hancock made a staticy garble- What could be discerned as a sigh from his vocalizer vents.

"Sir, the last thing I'm required of, is... COMPANIONSHIP," If Sanford didn't know any better, he'd say ole' Hancock spat that. "-My systems can't process emotions of human beings."

"This is the most serious you have sounded in months."

"You asked for it. You ARE my friend, on some strange whim... And don't get USED to it, latrine-rat!"

"Uh-huh. So you're saying?"

"All I'm saying, sir... Is that you're so alone, the radroaches would make better companions than what ya' got! Besides... ME, of course..."

"Again, that sure is morale-boosting..."

"When was the last time I've EVER screwed up on you, sir?"

Sanford stopped dead in his tracks, turned around, and stared long and hard at the robot.

Hancock jolted a tad in his levitation, and made that sighing sound again.

"OUTSIDE, of a combat situation that I haven't made amends for with a badass explosion!"

"Outside of that? I can't say you have..."

"Ah, see that? Friends truly are knitted by the ability to spawn napalm-induced mushroom clouds!"

"I told you about my father, right?"

"More times than I can count, sir. Brave man he was."

"And ma'?"

"I'll reiterate the lack of count, sir. Passionate lady."

"Ah..."

"Sir,"

"Hancock?"

"This depressive state will kill you. Sir."

"I know..." Sanford slung the laser rifle over his shoulder, and sighed at the bulging blotch, hunched, and cragged in the layered earth, that was home. "I know."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

The Red Rocket Gas Station...

Sanford remembered when his father would stop here for a quick tank refill whenever they were on a road trip, or even just out for errands.

"Son, I'm trying to prepare you for the responsibilities of life," His father said to him on one of their usual banters. "You see how much money that tank of gas cost? That's money you'll have to earn and work for. Life isn't cheap. But life also, isn't bad because of how hard it can be."

The family cars were long rotted away, and so were the gas-pumps he and every other citizen of the urban area used to fuel their machines.

Most of the hardware and electronics, including the heating, had been ripped out and carted away when Sanford stumbled onto the gas station years ago. For the most hauls of his scavenging, he had built sheets of any metals he could find.

Stockpiling these building blocks, a decently thickened barricade ringed around the stout shack and pump-shade roof, breaking for a wooden gate that could be opened from the inside via-crank wheel by the shack's front door.

Usually, Sanford had to rely on Hancock from within the barricade to let him in, but, since the robot was WITH him at the current interval, he was forced to use a 'Manual Override' of sorts.

Stepping over to the gate, Sanford rubbed the twin wooden panels for the hidden addition with both palms, giving off a tiny 'Ah!' when he found the indent in the surface, and dug into the thin square outline with his fingers.

The wood made a plastery-snap, a panel flipped off onto the ground, revealing a small calculator-like console duct-taped into the thick block of tree-born material.

Sanford flicked a light-switch he had wired into the keypad as a substitute for a power button, saw the little black monitor buzz alive to a hue of drab, and clicked in a quick code of '551' into the white keys.

It bleeped, the gate shuddered, he reached down and retrieved the dislodged panel, raised it to view under his nose to ensure the adhesive putty on the other side still had life, and slapped it back over the console before the gate parted.

The wooden pieces lurched a bit, dragging down small pulley-tugged aluminum frames to the left and right, revealing the little courtyard around the station.

"Home, sweet home…" Sanford clapped his hands together. "You want to open the garage for me? I gotta check the crops."

"Affirmative! That steel door won't know what hit 'em!"

Hancock sped in a burst of his single thruster jet to the front entry of the station, going right through the ajar door, and swinging down the left to the garage door where he kept the work supplies.

The little fortress was a neatly set up shop for what it was built over.

Sanford's metal barricades kept out the usual fodder of the wasteland, automated, electrically powered machine turrets wired with drum-fed assault rifles had been wired and set in the roof of the gas-station and the pump-shade.

A large solar-powered generator he had taken apart and rebuilt from a hydro-plant on the farthest outskirts of Boston's ruined agricultural epicenters, over the course of a week- Ensured the nearly never-setting sun of the wastes kept the turrets working 24/7.

The only shortcoming with the turrets was that they relied on projectile ammunition, which, in the worst of days, was pretty hard to find when bootleggers had shortages of newly made rounds to sell about.

Right now though, the side-mounted drums allowing the things to actually function as TURRETS, were full, seeing as the last time anything had attacked his home was… Well, probably a few months back.

The biggest problems came from Raiders, and on one occasion, a group of them almost breached the wall with a few fragmentation grenades and some home-made explosives. Hancock's plasma gun and Sanford's pipe weapons ensured the thugs that DID get through did not get many steps deep.

Half the turrets ran out of ammo that day, and there were around fifteen bodies they had clean up, which, was pretty easy with Hancock's flamer.

He had to figure out a better defensive perimeter to keep others out, but, in the mean-time, THIS was what he had, and at least it worked.

Still, instances like that were frightening- More so than getting shot at in general, which, understandably, was pretty scary. Close calls showed the kinks in a defensive perimeter, reminding even the heartiest of siege-planners that people normally did learn the hard way.

Something to dote on, albeit.

"Well, at least the food is still coming..." Sanford sighed, stepping into the center of the pavement square marking the area where cars, in the forgotten past, used to pull up to get a fresh tank.

Cleared of the pumps by looters, and preventing of any nasty wildlife like molerats or scorpions from burrowing underneath his ramshackle stockade, a large, square-shaped planter filled with mulch held a series of tangled roots from fruit-producing plants.

A melon vine, the strange potato/tomato crossbred plants the locals called 'Tatos' in a handful of limbs, and a pair of corn stalks, those last two being the least-numerical producers.

Growing this stuff was hard enough in the blasted world, the fact he had to clump it together made it harder, so, those stupid tatos were starting to override the measly corn and the few melons. He hunted for the meat, and, since Hancock was... Well, HANCOCK, he didn't need food, and rations were pretty easy to divide.

He was always thin for a reason, even when Earth wasn't in the farthest drain of the crapper.

Reaching down to stroke a tato-plant leaf in his fingers, he creased his lipline, reached down, and picked up two anti-freeze bottles that had been flushed and filled with different substances. A blue one held water, and one with a marker-drawn red X held plant-food he'd picked up in a Super-Duper Mart.

Whistling, Sanford drained some of the water in a sprinkle over the resilient plants, and then shook some green pebbles from the plant-food bottle over them.

"Dad always did think I had a gardening side too me..." Sanford mused.

"We're all set, sir! Modification city, YEE-HAW!" Hancock's echoing cry emitted from the gas station, followed by a hollow clanking of shifting chassis as the robot practically hurled himself through the side window of the shack.

Luckily, the glass had been blown out for two-hundred years, so, all the Mr. Gutsy hit was a soft patch of sand that ringed around the immediate base of the building with a kick of dust, and comedic, anti-climactic **_PFFT_** of impact.

"U.S.A! U.S.A! U.S.A!" The robot chanted with a raised claw from his sprawl on the ground.

Sanford put the bottle back by the planter and clapped his hands to dust them.

"-Has been dead. -Has been dead. -Has been dead..." He finished for the robot.

"What do YOU know anyway, plebian?!"

"Probably not enough..."

"Aye! Now, let's fix up the new destruction-engine!"

"Yep, we'll wipe out the Super Mutants in one shot, huh?"

"If you'd let me use Clarice more, we would! Sir."

Hancock had a thing with referring to his portable anti-armor rifle RPG attachment as 'Clarice' and, the reason Sanford always discouraged the use of it, was because if there was one thing Han' HAD figured out in the mechanical field- It was how to modify missile warheads.

The Mr. Gutsy had warheads stuffed with shrapnel, napalm, chemical adhesives, and one time, the freak had made a missile filled with plain gunpowder, and he shot at a house filled with Super Mutant scouts that had camped on the road they traveled.

Needless to say, the Super Mutants had been obliterated, Sanford had been tossed onto his backside, and Hancock laughed the hole time, even as he was tossed three feet away from the miniature mushroom cloud his ordnance created.

If the description didn't say it for you, than Sanford would be the first to tell you that the house, and the trees near it, were no longer part of the landscape in said alley of the wasteland.

Wincing at that recollection, the man strolled past his dirt-felled robotic friend with a shake of his head, and stepped through the doorframe of the shack's front face.

He took a quick right into the small bike garage that the station had since its construction.

A tools-bench was in the corner of the room, ringed with chests and wheeled containers holding all sorts of wrenches, drills, ratchets and welding apparatus he had scavenged over the years, a saw-blade mounted table was next to it- The weapons workbench.

Other than that, a chest, drab-leathered, and blazoned with a faded U.S. Army star filled with fixed guns and spare ammo boxed in the farthest corner by the garage door.

Reaching back to the sling over his shoulders, he clenched hold of the laser rifle's stock, wormed his arm back over his head, and held the equipment before him at the worktable.

"Tsk tsk... Girl's pretty beat up..." He looked back out the doorframe to the window viewing the pump-overhang's lot. "-Yo! Han'... You think rapid-fire? Or precision?"

"When in doubt-!" Hancock called from the ground. "-Pump the entire area full of holes and hope God sorts'-em' out!"

"Fair enough... And, speaking of... Good God man! Get outta' the dirt!"

"Pansy!" Came faintly back from outside.

"Ugh..."

Sanford stepped over to the workbench, laid the rifle down across the flat calmly, and opened one of the tens of tiny drawers to sift through an organized pile of washers and bolts.

"Let's see... I need... A General-Atomics model 3a-vis... 3a-vis... 3a-VIS! Ha! Found it!"

He took out a wad of the appropriate bolts, slacked the tiny drawer shut, and opened another.

"I should have another crystal-amplifiiieeerrr...-HERE. Ah, there we are."

That drawer closed too.

 ** _SHKSHK_**

"And... Some sub-atomic resonator coils... THERE."

 ** _SHKSHK_**

"-A few G-A model 4a-vis bolts..."

 ** _SHKSHK_**

"Some cheap knock-off model 56g screws..."

 ** _SHKSHK_**

"-Finally, a roll of spare copper wiring, always comes in handy..."

 ** _SHKSHK_**

"Then, of course, wonderglue and tape. A scavenger's best friend."

 ** _SHKSHK_**

" Hey! Han'! Get your tin-can in here and hold this for me!"

"Blow it out your ear, grandma!"

"Don't get your engine-coolant in a flush, let's go."

"You're worse than my dead sarge'!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

"I hate this sludge..."

 ** _PLK_**

 ** _PLK_**

"-It makes my heels chafe..."

 ** _PLK_**

 ** _PLK_**

 ** _PLK_**

"I wouldn't BE in here if I wasn't hiding like an insect..."

 ** _PLK_**

 ** _PLK_**

"-And I most CERTAINLY, wouldn't be here, if these-"

 ** _PLK_**

 ** _SQCHH!_**

"-FREAKING APES JUST LET ME BE!"

There was a horrendous squelching sound, kind of like if you picked up a wad of mud, and tried to stuff it in a tiny cardboard box that would hold, oh, say the size of an ink-cartridge for a printer.

It was a nasty, repulsive slapping shift, caused by nasty, repulsive, unspoken-of things that were flushed down two-hundred year old toilets, and left to fester.

Kindly, most of it had rotted away, or, had become SNACKS for the local mutated crustaceans, and did not crust and gather in the winding tunnels anymore...

UN-Kindly, a lot of the stuff was still pooling in the center of the passages, and, if you stopped traveling down the mounds of dirt or the concrete service-ways, you were BOUND to step in something just bare-bone ugly.

Ironically, she supposed a lot would think SHE was bare-bone ugly...

But, without that thought gracing the mind at the current second, all she could really focus on was the initial shock of sinking near waist-deep in ape crap.

Which, with no exaggeration, was exactly what befell her in that moment.

With arms spread in sudden lack of belief, palms pained from clenching fingers, and digging sheathes of nails- A seven-foot tall figure aimed her head down at the sloshing muck, and pursed fangs under leathery chops.

She inhaled, exhaled, and finally, let loose a torrent of vulgarity-

"Mère putain, sans valeur, les rongeurs de vie sucer! Spawn de l'enfer! JE VIENS DE LE FAIRE!"

 ** _SHLK_**

All her height was exposed as the tidal wave of- Awkwardly- French cursing came to a barking close, she leapt out of the depths, and flicked her backwards angled legs to rid herself of some of the horrible residue.

Examining herself in horror, the being groaned tiredly, and dragged elongated, thin fingers down its face, past a set of twisting ivory from its temples. Cream eyes shut, and a shaky breath left its chest.

To the normality, incidents like this were never important, they NATURALLY wallowed in filth.

But when the good creator above granted you the ability to have self-preservation, no matter WHAT you were, taking a dip in poop made you angry.

Poop, and whatever else this toxin was meshed with...

The thought alone just mulled her very spirit.

"Je ne peux plus prendre ce..." She muttered into her palms. "-When will it be over? I want out..."

Flicking her legs again, a third lower appendage swung in tired arcs behind her waist line, and the darkened tunnels seemed to stretch in more distance as she gazed down the one she traveled.

"I want OUT..." She complained to no one in particular, limping a little as her self-consciousness prevented her stiffened hips and lower from moving effectively after the bath from hell.

Going under the sewers of ruined human civilization as a highway route was more dangerous than any kind of nighttime excursion she had mounted in the past above-ground... IF, you were human, of course.

The night was always the interval she'd move under to avoid being spotted by anyone, or anything. Life had taught her that the world already was unfriendly, and, because she was, what she WAS, it was specifically unfriendly-ER, to HER.

For, mind you, it wasn't just the healthy shade of drab that made her thin, serpentine hide, or the curling ivory protrusions that rounded on both sides of a long, thin-jawed head with a mouth-full of fangs and a twisting tongue- That made her stick out.

The third rear appendage between her upper buttocks to provide her balance when speed on all fours was needed, the claws sprawling from sets of four rounded toes on her sleek feet- The claws that were longer than a human's forearm winding from each of four fingers...

There was a list that rolled out and went down the tunnel she trekked, of why not just the apes who built this complex, wanted her to stop living.

Indeed, man, the ones who ruined the world they knew, to create the one SHE knew- Wanted her dead, and, since they were uninformed, she supposed with good reason.

Her kind had a large gap in both numerical superiority, and interaction with other races, between those who had been deemed 'Intelligent' and those of the common 'Pack-Mentality' stock.

Most of her race were animals, smart, but still animals.

And notably, for the reasons here- Most of her race were VICIOUS animals, predators, carnivores, things that hunted others, including people, and tore them apart to eat the remnants.

There was a reputation, that labeled her kind as blood thirsty, territorial beasts that killed for the sheer sake of killing.

A reputation, that they brought death, from the ends of claws that could rend through plates of steel.

Those same claws she was also 'Gifted' if that- fiddled in side-drawn swipes to each other as she kept pace with uneven, lumbering, depressed footfalls.

She sighed.

This had been going for a week now.

The running, the hiding, the trudging through the ass-cracks of the world...

All because the most daring, persistent, and cruel humans she had ever encountered, were hell-bent on taking her in a containment cell, or a containment CASE, should she resist.

She knew who they were, their identities were held as fable to most other people, the commoners, that lived in the wastes and the destroyed cities of past civilization.

Clad in mountainous, hulking suits of atomically powered protective suits of armor, shielded under invisible barricades of electric ion fields, and carrying weapons capable of leveling entire blocks of urban clutter- Groups of these hunters, these 'Enclave'- chased her day and night.

As far as she could tell, it was the same 'Squad' that was tailing her all the way, a group of no more than ten.

But, ten or not, they were with the same human beings that had forced her into solitude, and killed all those she held in the same esteem she did herself. And, with no dramatic sense in the grim reality- These beings had stolen a lot from her.

The stinking heaps in these tunnels paled in comparison to the thefts dealt against her... The lives of her social group, the destruction of her home.

It had been years worth of a cycle- she had no idea specifically in length how long- but this 'Enclave' had known she was one of the rarer of her kind, and they wanted to do horrible things to her, she just knew it.

Days went by where she physically hated who she was.

And days went by when she physically hated who everyone, and everything AROUND her, was.

Yet through the pain, the facts still stood.

The Enclave wanted to see what made her tick, and they would do anything in their power to capture or kill her.

 _Perhaps_... She considered, flinching at the stench now emanating FROM her. _This garbage is the easy part..._

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3.**

 **The Wheel of Fortune Kept Turning.**

* * *

In a flurry of stored mental energy, consciousness swung from a view of relaxed darkness, and the comfort of entangled softness- To a growing blue light.

The source of illumination was piercing, almost, and it started to branch into differing tendrils of beam-like pillars that dappled through the sheet of black like sunlight came through a forest's roof.

He had no hands, really, to hold up for his eyes to adjust, no feet to grow weak with, and similarly no legs. But his mind saw it all, an opened book that he had already read, had already BEEN in its text for years.

It flooded back to him in the form of envisioned, long dead urban metropolis- Automated paper-dispensers that gave the common citizen their news and propaganda for the day, energy efficient automobiles that used gasoline AND backup battery storage.

Robots handled yard work, construction, security, menial labor- Everything humans detested, the metal-men and women of the new world did FOR them.

Houses looked trim and beautiful as did the families living in them, the streets were perfectly paved, lawns kept, hedges rounded and golden, the smell of barbecues ringing the air, and the distant drone of a passing National-Guard Vertibird to ensure security.

Life was perfect, and it stayed that way year-round.

It looked perfect, smelled perfect, TASTED perfect-

-Because the powers of Earth WANTED it to come off as such.

Really, suburbia, the city life, were all a bunch of hoaxes. The government of the United States knew the nukes were coming. So did the government of China. So did the government of Russia, and so did every single poor-excuse for a ruling body in the divided European Commonwealth.

This bright vision of his home, his family, and the beautiful life he lived when he was truly blind- They all clattered to dust when he was reminded of this.

 ** _CLAK_**

A great shockwave, a giant whip-like sound cracked the air, the sky turned red, shingles flew from roofs, glass broke and people dropped what they were doing.

The largest bloom of light anyone in the history of man had ever seen grew in the ambient backdrop.

Gravity started to lift several tons of cars, buildings, dumpsters- Even things bolted down were taken away. Than a wave of flame engulfed the world behind this shockwave. People, houses, cars, streets- Entire developments vanished.

Then, human civilization- Effectively- Vanished too.

And Sanford was reminded of all that death he had narrowly avoided through sheer luck as he slept.

Gasping, he flung off the mixed, non-matching sheets his mattress was practically mummified in, heaving heavily with a moisture-glistened body and face. Sanford sat up in his bed, heart pounding, with no sound other than the distant growl of his home's defense generators to thrum the air.

Grumbling at the nightmare, he reached up and rubbed his hands across his face repeatedly.

He hadn't exactly been TORTURED by the dusk visions in his dreams, they didn't happen often- But throughout the whole time he'd been alive after the nukes, after his waking from the cryo-pod, Sanford had the same nightmare every now and again.

He would hear that horrible, echoing clap, the **_CLAK_** sound, the very atmosphere jerking under the duress of a nuclear weapon.

The man had never been able to go back to sleep after this nightmare before, so, without even attempting to lay back down, Sanford cast off the array of scavenged bedding, and laid his feet on the cold floor of the station.

He sulked forwards briefly, sighed, and stood up with a creaking joints.

"God damn it..." He cursed. "-God, friggin', DAMN IT."

It had to be around three or four in the morning, the distant amount of blue/gray glow in the clouds was symbolizing it as he glanced outside the front-window from leaving his bedroom's doorframe.

The automated defenses outside hummed distantly, and, oddly, despite it being an array of armed weaponry- It gave him a calming effect, that drone.

Humming at lack of care for it, Sanford tugged open a small mini-fridge by the front counter, shrugging the draping, black wire that connected it to the generators outside- Off of his arm as he slung the door ajar.

He grabbed a container of water and a can of pork before slapping the entry shut.

Undeniably- He was tired out of his wits, but, he knew the drill- On the nights of night-MARES, he was now awake, and had to get ready for any activities the day might provide for him.

Honestly, said 'Activities' had grown repetitive over the years.

Scavenge here, scavenge there- Keep your gun on you at all times- Check for food here- Check the garden- Visit this trade rout- Hear about any creatures that need killing, and then KILL them- The works.

Sniffing with his stuffed nose, Sanford walked to the garage with his makeshift breakfast, and stalked over to the large steamer trunk beside all his work-stations. He gave it a good cuff with his heel on the opening pad, and the thing swung ajar with a thud.

The lid creaked a finality- He bent down, putting the can of pork and his water by his left foot, and shoved the bodies of safety-pinned weapons out of the way until he found a scabbard.

Taking the sleeve of leather out- He grabbed the handle jutting from it- Tugged out a combat blade.

One of his MANY finds.

There certainly were benefits to just being a scavenger.

As with all other professions nowadays, he figured.

Unceremoniously, Sanford picked up his can, and stabbed the top cap with the blade once- Earning a puncturing sound from the rim.

He twisted the blade and yanked down on the handle until the cap started to peal from the knife's entry.

He repeated the process on all sides until the aluminum cap clattered onto the floor, and the smell of preserved, processed meat and beans filled his nostrils, which, now, were starting to clear up under the strong odor.

Hitting the side of the can to loosen its contents, he stuck the knife back in its scabbard, threw it back in the trunk, reached up and slapped the lid shut with a clunk.

He drank some of the water as he stood up, swallowed, and then tipped the can over his open mouth, letting some of the slop inside slide out and into his gullet where he retracted and chewed.

This late in the night, even the wind outside was always dulled- It was one of the minor reasons why people refused to travel at night, out of many greater reasons.

The silence was unnerving, moreso than the DAYTIME silence was.

The bigger problem presented, though, was that aside from the creepiness factor, the Super Mutants and the Raiders liked to stalk around at these hours, AND, the nastier monsters that detested sunlight crawled out to hunt.

The monster issue was not a problem for his neck of the woods, as, molerats and giant bugs became quite common for his guns' victim counts. However, the farther south you went, into the dead lands filled with nothing but fields of ruins- THAT, was where the nasty stuff lived.

The largest radscorpions in the Commonwealth crawled through the rubble there, packs of molerats far larger than the small families here traversed that hell too- And, most notably, the fearsome, near-fabled beasts called Deathclaws roamed there.

Sanford rolled his jaw at that consideration.

The few merchants that had EVER seen a Deathclaw and lived, told him the last instance of one walking around these parts was decades ago when people were still pushing them into their boundaries today.

Sanford always imagined, to make himself work harder- That any encounter in the future might be with something like that, and he had to be ready.

Yet, stupid things like these nightmares made it harder to think so powerfully.

"What am I going to do if I keep myself up like this, huh?" He muttered to himself, strolling towards the front window again to view outside at the court.

Leaning on the table ringing beneath the window's ledge, he dipped the can into his mouth again, and stood there chewing with lidded eyes.

He had to remember his saying.

He'll figure it out...

"Yep... Yep... YEP..." He chuckled lowly. "-I'll get it."

"AH! Pork'N'Beans! The least nutritious, most fattening reserve of ground-up, processed swine carcass and plant-based seed-matter to grace the marketplace! Every G.I.'s frontline friend, eh?"

Most other people would have jumped out of their skin from the outburst, but Sanford just stopped mid-chew, turned slowly to view over his left shoulder at the floating robot hovering there at his flank.

Hancock ridged his lenses at the man, and Sanford swallowed quickly, turned back to the window, and drank the rest of his water.

"Well, good-morning to you too, Han'."

"This isn't just ANY good morning, sir! This is, OUR good morning! LIBERTY! HA-HA!"

"You've been saying that for years."

"When have I been wrong? Sir?"

"You WANT me to answer that?"

"Nnnnnegative!"

"Uh-huh."

"So, what's got you up THIS time, Sir?"

"Nothin'."

Hancock's claw reached around to the storage compartment at his back chassis, clambering around for some unseen object as Sanford checked his can of food.

Closing one eye, he peaked inside the apparently drained can, shook it for good measure, and sighed before putting it on the table he leant too next to his empty water.

"Aha!" Hancock said, coming back with a fresh container of water. "-Now, Sir,"

Sanford laughed lowly while he took the container and uncorked the cap.

"-What can doctor-Hancock do for ya'?"

"'Doctor' huh?"

"-I've blown people up! I've seen the insides! Don't all medical professionals see dead-stuff like that?"

"Kind of."

"See that! I should get into surgery!"

"You'd be fired after the first butchering."

"I may have a saw-blade, but I'm precise with it!"

"Oohhhh yeaaahhhhh... You're precise alright..."

"-The problem, sir? OUT WITH IT, MAN!"

"Hancock, shut up."

"On the double!"

"It was the nightmare again, Han'. The explosion? The nuke? Remember?" Sanford shrugged his shoulders with ridged brows. "-C'mon, you know this."

Hancock was silent for a second, reached down to pick at the saw blade he mentioned before with his claw.

The robot considered it.

"Sir, perhaps... LIBERTY, might not be our answer..."

"What does that mean?"

"We decided to go against all injustice when we started living out here on our own, sir."

"-You mean, being independent?"

"Whatever you civvies' call it!"

"Yeah. And?"

"Being around other monkeys might solve the problem, sir."

"... You mean, like move into a settlement? Like Diamond?"

"Aye. I don't like it either, but if it fixes ya' , sir... I'd be willin' to do it."

"I... N-No, no way. They'd throw you out."

"Yes, but as a... BUDDY, I'd want for you to be successful in our crusade for the end of tyranny!"

"So, you'd get left in the streets to see me get better emotionally?"

"Ugh... The Commies can wait for their deaths if needed..."

"...For a flying trash-can, you're a pretty good friend."

"Don't tempt me, chimp-man!"

"Han', it's alright, I'll get it over it eventually. It's only been a few years, and the nightmares are going away faster than they used to..."

"You sure?"

"Uh-huh."

Hancock levitated solemnly, made a garbled sigh.

"Alright, sir."

"Han',"

"Yyyepp?"

"Thanks, brother."

"Aye-aye, sir."

"We should go looking..."

"Ohhhh-YES! Mission time!"

"-What do you think about the Green Estates today?"

"The one with all them' zombie freaks?"

"Yep."

"-HOO-RAH!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Gradually parting the grayed sky, a bright, yet at the same time- Dull white- Sun emerged from the polluted, radiation-poisoned atmosphere above to beam down some measure of heat to the cold, cold world below.

Weather in old-Boston was a strange, and, sometimes unexplainable thing.

There was still a sun, and, even though it generated vitamin-C for animals basking in its rays, and yes, even though it provided light and allowed the mutated plant-life to survive, the sun didn't give off... AS MUCH, heat, as it used too.

It wasn't to the point where warmth did not cascade from its center at all, far from it- It was just LESSER, like someone would turn down a heating dial on a electronic fireplace.

The air- Now clogged with radioactive microscopic debris, muffled the sun's power to such an extent, that mornings and nights were much colder than they would have been in say, a pre-War Summer or Spring.

Though, no one really knew for sure which season, if any, the Earth was 'Locked' in, if the theory was even correct.

It was a mix between the ending of Summer, and the beginning of Spring from Winter- If that made sense.

Temperature, and weather, were of course nowhere near as dangerous as the wildlife that lived under it all, and, most assuredly, nowhere near as dangerous in comparison to the NOT-so natural patterns spawned by the nukes.

Radiation Storms, literally giant green smog-clouds that covered the entire land, blasting down bolts of yellowed-lightning, and echoing droning blares of static across the continent in absence of thunder.

They were harmless to pretty much everything in the wastes EXCEPT, humans.

The Super Mutants, obviously, didn't feel a thing. Molerats and roaches couldn't be bothered. The larger stuff- Bears, big bugs, high-end predators- Again, weren't in danger.

People though, if caught outside, were vulnerable to fatal radiation poisoning.

Sanford had almost been stuck outside in a handful of these storms, and they were on trips far away from his little fortress-home. Each time though, he'd found a building, or a ruin, or some underground shelter to shield him.

That was why, as he trekked, the green hue in the distant storm clouds unnerved him.

After all, all the buildings here were totally open.

"That's not good..." He muttered lowly, arms absently coming to stills at his sides as he walked.

On foot, garbed in blocky, scavenged combat-armor, Sanford reached around to the weapons' sling over his shoulders, and shoved the leather aside. A burlap canvas sack, compressed flatly over his back- Was flipped open at its top pouch, and he craned his elbow awkwardly to reach.

Finding the apparel slung over in the flank, outside the internal pocket beneath the pin-flap, Sanford came back with a gas-mask, a military-grade issue that was armored with flak plating like the combat helm he wore.

He yanked back the straps, dipped his head so his helmet fell off with a tiny clatter onto the dusty ground at his feet.

He always came prepared for possibilities like this on trips for salvage- And, since sleep had not come this night- Sanford was pretty ready to go by the time the sun came out for a walk to the Green Estates trailers.

There wasn't much left to take from that place, but the amount of ghouls discouraged most who WOULD loot the place from even showing up, and it just so happened that Sanford and his buddy were ALWAYS equipped for minor scuffles.

Ghouls were pushovers if you played your tactics right and watched your back.

If you screwed up... It was safe to assume you were dead, and the irradiated freaks wouldn't go about it slowly.

Wincing, Sanford shoved his head under the straps, and lowered the mask into place over his face.

He reached to the side of cylindrical filter, unpinned the vents, and sighed when fresh air wheezed inside the head-piece. Sanford coughed from the plastic-smelling tint, bent down and picked his combat helmet back up, neatly placing it atop his cranium and the fore of the mask.

"-Han'! Get over here!"

The robot wandered all the time, yet, he was never far behind.

"On my way, Cappy-Ton!" Came a few feet from behind him, Sanford watching over his shoulder the Mr. Gutsy model kicking up a small trail of airborne dust as he floated over the weed-laden dry expanses.

The robot gained closer, and eventually levitated by the man's side, holding a lump of shiny, crushed metal cans in his claw's grip.

Sanford was about to point to the growing green-hue in the dark cast ahead when he nodded at the bundle of cans.

"Aluminum! Good find, eh?"

"Ah! Perfect!"

Hancock reached back and shoved the aluminum food-containers in his storage compartment.

Now all they needed was some circuitry wires and optics-samples... He could start fixing more broken weapons they found again.

"I think a Storm is on the way, Han'." Sanford pointed up at the sky. "-It looks like a Rad' one."

Like a great, looming deity of evil, the storm gathered in a gigantic, sickly-tinted gray behind the looping arches of the ruined highways gridding Boston's wastes- the actual city itself- Barely seeable over the rolling expanses and ruined farm houses- was enshrouded under the storm's belly.

The skyscrapers peaking over the hills looked black from the shade, and Sanford started to gather that standing here- Was probably not very smart.

"Perhaps... We should move?" He chuckled, voice garbled from the communication bead on the mask.

"WOULD miss it for the world! ONWARDS!" Hancock cried, jabbing the nozzle of his flamer to the east of where they stood- To the direction of a shadowy, warehouse-looking structure nestled in the cragged earth.

"Isn't that Mobley's Garage?"

"Yessir! And it sure as hell looks better than out here!"

"There's Ghouls in there too..."

"Well, then we get ta' fight 'em early!" Hancock proclaimed, already starting to whizz off in the directly, his metal hide becoming darker from the shadowy storm. "-I LOVE me some fried zombie!"

"Wait up, you tin-bucket!"

NOW, on top of the all the other antics.

Their travels were getting hindered.

Lovely.

"Slow down, bolt-head! We gotta' cover each other!"

Hancock's two rear-mounted eyes glared angrily, and the dare-devil airborne sprint the robotic menace had mounted in the direction for the workshop ceased for a bored, plain bob in place for the human to catch up.

Sometimes his simian legs annoyed the Mr. Gutsy profusely.

Sanford reached over his back and pulled out a compact, yet elongated projectile weapon outfitted with a clip-fed action.

It was a submachine gun, an SMG of the world now dead- A nasty little popper with the ability to spit out thirty rounds from the little clips it had outfitted. Sanford, however, did not WANT just thirty rounds for an occasion that might involve Ghouls.

He grabbed the bolt on the top of the gun and yanked it all the way down the receiver's roof slot- Pressing the clamp-releases for the clip to be ejected from its hold on the gun's belly, he shoved the ammo-holder in the side pouch of his canvas bag.

It rattled there- Beside a set of duplicate clips for the same weapon, and carefully, Sanford patted by his backside to hear a delightful clacking of plastics.

He tugged on a set of three disk-like, thick objects, tearing one loose from the breakable knot he had bound each individually with to the bottom of his canvas bag. It was a one-hundred round drum- A slow reloading feed for the gun that gave the user more bite before having to refill.

He slid the ajar, indented section of the drum into the clip-feed, shoved until it clicked into position, checked the bolt atop the gun once more, and gave a thumbs up to his robot.

"Alright, I'm good!"

"Damn humans and their separate-part weapons..."

"Not all of us LIKE having a Plasma Rifle for an arm, Han'."

"Bah-humbug!"

"Pfft. Be that way..."

Sanford hunched a little in a jog to the outskirts of the garage property, with his robot at his side, moving more slowly as well.

A flattened, wire-fence that was completely rotted away in most sections, was obscured under the rolling dusty earth and gravel, and by sheets of gnarly weeds, dead ferns. A rotting, rusty truck chassis was flipped on its side directly in front of a wide, long building.

Two garage doors tipped the building's face that they angled towards, a shack-like protrusion with slot windows had a trio of rusting, destroyed automobiles and an assortment of tossed garbage containers around it.

A rumble boomed distantly.

The scary look of the building paled in the face of a radiation storm.

Sanford swallowed, watching the building for a few seconds.

"-Ah, see that? Life signs detected..." Hancock muttered. "-Thank the Army for heat-sig scans!"

"And let's NOT thank them for your unkempt ego..."

"Sod off!"

"Let's go, come on. I'll take the garage doors, find a way in-back."

"-But I ALWAYS find a way in back! Let's just go in guns blazing!"

"I've told you that's a bad idea."

"My logic says 'Yes'! But my G.I. spirit tells you too- 'Drink antifreeze and stuff it'!"

"Follow the logic then."

"Logic can kiss my nozzle-cap!"

"Shut up and do as I ask..."

"The second I SEE a zombie... I'm blastin' its face."

"Don't doubt it..."

Hancock zipped away with a slight hum of engine usage towards the rear of the building, soon, vanishing behind the girth of the wood-slab wall back there.

Sanford leveled his gun, and hurried to the two garage doors behind the flipped-over truck, trying to keep his boots' falling through crunching weeds as hushed as possible.

Stopping to quickly step over the ankle-high crumpled remains of a section of fencing, he scanned the oil drums, wrecked shelving units and general junk that lie strewn in and around the building. Honestly, even with a glance- Everything here was worthless.

What was he going to do with tin cans? Water bottles? Cardboard-friggin' boxes? Or a shriveled-up, face-mangled, fang-bearing butt-ass-ugly dead body splayed out by the front entrances?

That stuff was all worthless.

Especially the shriveled-up, face-mangled-

"-Fang-bearing butt-ass-ugly... Dead... Body... Oh shit..."

Sanford now saw the wrinkled, thin, deformed bundle splayed on the dusty ground, near buried in a thin sheet of junk.

The hands and feet were warped, with black, brown claws and missing digits- The skin looked like someone stretched the person's entire hide to an unheard of limit, and then shoved it back and wrapped them up in it.

The head, barely seen beneath a few bottles, was angled more to the left than the right in overall shape, two beady, thin, yellow eyes slit from molded, rotting scrunches of flesh.

The thing twitched a bit as he looked at it.

THAT, was a Ghoul.

And despite appearances saying otherwise- The thing wasn't dead and/or dying.

Ferals had a habit of literally lying around in drunken-like stupors on the ground, or against walls, or in chairs- An un-understood behavior of many when it came to irradiated souls devolved into animals.

If the creature had noticed him, it did not give any kind of indication to reacting to his presence.

Sanford gulped.

If he shot it, the others- And, when it came to Ghouls, they hung out in packs, so there WERE others- would hear the gunfire and come sprinting.

With Hancock's support, they could take a good number of the Ghouls head on with confidence, but it was always a risk, and if the robot was INSIDE the structure, the last thing Sanford wanted on his head was the 'Death' of sorts, of his best friend to a bunch of zombies.

Clicking his teeth, another rumble of radioactive thunder thrummed distantly, but now somewhat louder.

They had to clear this place soon.

No time for specifics.

Grumbling, Sanford took a breath, and stood to his full height, lining up the iron sights of his SMG on the Ghoul's laid-down head.

The Ghoul noticed him when he did this, and the thing started to make an awful breathing rasp that, a foot away, and Sanford could hear it plain in his face. The arms swung upwards- Like a child trying to stand up after a fall in the snow.

The Ghoul rolled onto its stomach with a crackling of disturbed trash flittering all down its sides and off its back.

It got up to its knees when Sanford pulled the trigger, and two rounds flew out of the SMG.

 ** _CLKCLK_**

-Twin pops.

The Ghoul's head cocked to the right with flares of viscous, diseased crimson, and the creature made a choking gurgle as it fell in a twitching heap back onto the ground, and lay still.

"-Huh... Usually something explodes after that." Sanford shrugged, bouncing the chin of his gun in the palm of his hand. "Boy, you're one ugly freak..."

The man stepped closer to the corpse, cringing at the whiff of rotten meat that came off the wrinkled cadaver, he nudged its leg with the toe of his boot.

Looking up at the garage doors, he started to head to one to yank it ajar.

"-I wonder where Hancock went-"

 ** _CLAK_**

Oh. That was shooting.

In fact, that was the echoing report of ole' Han's Plasma gun.

 ** _CLAK_**

 ** _CLAK_**

 ** _CLAK_**

And the only time he used it like THAT, was when they found groups of things trying to kill them...

 ** _CLAK CLAK_**

 ** _CLAK_**

 ** _CLAK_**

"-HA! That's right! Undead-primate wannabes! UUNCLE-Sam's got a present for ya', bitch!"

 ** _CLAK CLAK_**

 ** _CLAK_**

"-Give it up now, babycake-! Oh-! Oh-! Hey-hey! U-Uncle Sam might need backup!"

 ** _CLAK_**

 ** _CLAK_**

 ** _CLAK_**

 ** _CLAK CLAK CLAK CLAK CLAK_**

 ** _CLAK CLAK_**

"-Aw, crap!"

"Han'! What's happening?!" Sanford risked calling out to the side of the building.

When no response beside more gunshots came, Sanford flinched when a raspy, choking scream came from behind him- A mix of a person gagging on a sack of gel and some fat slob breathing out his mouth while he stuffed his face.

Sanford swung around to see a flailing mess of wrinkled limbs cascading from the opposite side of the building he had called to- Two yellow, thin-eyed Ghouls running at him in unbalanced sprints.

The raggedy excuses of clothes covering them flittered in the breeze generated from their run, and Sanford stumbled back a single step to aim his gun from the waist.

"-SHIT!"

The SMG spat a cluster of rounds, dusty impacts kicked up from the Ghoul's torsos and their heads- Their now limp forms clambering onto the ground in rolling, stilled heaps.

Their cries cut off in a deep, raspy pair of- 'ACHK!' sounds, the Ghouls twitched a few times and lay still a few steps before him on the ground.

Sanford sighed, and turned to view the other side of the building again.

"-HAN'! YO!"

"WAAAGGHCCK!"

Another Ghoul's wet scream came from the same direct, Sanford reaffirmed sights, and shot the freak dead as he started to sprint towards the dead remains of his buddies.

The SMG clattered briefly, and the Ghoul's head vanished in a spurt of blackened blood, the body slipping onto its chest and gut in an instant loss of life function with a clap of dust.

"-Han'!? C'mon where are-"

"-REEETTREEAATTTT!"

Sanford's brows felt like they'd snap off for how high they arched on his face.

Hancock flew around the corner of the building with all three eyes directed BEHIND him, his Plasma gun flinging out blobs of green energy back at whatever pursued him.

The robot flew right past him and continued out into the open pasture.

Sanford's eye twitched, and he spun around to the rapid padding of several foot-falls.

Another Ghoul ringed around the corner of the garage- Pointed a clawed finger at him in a howling choke, and ran at him with swinging, ape-like arms. Sanford shot it dead with a quick burst of the submachine gun, stepping back as the corpse fell still before him.

He shot another Ghoul, and another, and ANOTHER- Before four more bodies dotted the space dividing him from the corner wall.

Then, right when it seemed the swarm had stopped- A HANDFUL of Ghouls rounded the corner, a big group of like five, or maybe six.

Behind them, a small tide of swinging arms and legs, hooting, bestial throaty cries, and tens of pairs of yellow eyes howled and hacked towards him. A crowd of the freaks.

"-HOLY MOTHER OF FUCK!"

 ** _CLKCLKCLKCLKCLKCLKCLKCLK-PIN!_**

The drum ran dry in his SMG- the Ghouls that jerked and died under the duress of his rounds were trampled and compressed to the ground faster by the rapid falls and swings of their comrades' knees and legs.

"HANCOCK! YOU WAIT FOR ME RIIIGGGHHTT NOOOOWWW!" Sanford screamed, turning and sprinting with all his might towards where the robot had fled.

"-I'll save you, simian-man!" Hancock called in the distance, and soon, green bolts of Plasma were flying past Sanford's right and left flanks, into the mess of Ghouls behind him.

Chased by an army of freaks with an impending rad-storm on the way...

-Oh, AND, he didn't sleep half the night.

Talk about shitty days.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4.**

 **Swarms of Spasming Freaks.**

* * *

Sanford had never been partial to running away from problems before he was brought to the hellish modern day.

Back in his youth of youth- His time as a child- Problems were always something he wanted to tackle head on, get it over with, and solve the dilemma right then and there, it was better than watching it grow.

However, the problem, with THIS problem, was that said PROBLEM, ran on two legs, had claws that rend your throat out, and had teeth designed for tearing away chunks of your flesh.

As accordingly, without the proper tools to DEAL with this problem, running from it, wasn't such a bad idea in the retrospect of it all...

"-HANCOCK!" Sanford belted out, hand fumbling behind his canvas bag as he sprinted like a deer over the hills and upraised mounds of dust. "HANCOCK! KILL IT! KILL IT!"

"EAT THIS! ZOMBIFIED MONKEYS!"

Whilst Sanford stumbled over the terrain of the blasted wasteland, he almost dropped the drum he had yanked out from its hold behind him.

Gasping heavily, his boot caught on a tendril of dead plant life with a crackling tug, and the immediate result was him surging forwards on uneven falls of heel.

"SHIT!" Sanford cried, flinging out his gun and his wrists to block the fall.

The earth flew into his upper half at that instance- His arms and weapon bucked under the impact, and he rolled to the right with a heavy grunt, a string of soil flinging from a brief clench on his gun's side.

He scrambled in a backwards peddle on the ground, shoving the second drum into the ammunition receiver of the SMG, trying not to become distracted by the fact that Hancock was, in fact, keeping him alive.

Green swathes of energy continually flew over where he had fallen, and a Ghoul dropped dead close enough that its claw brushed past Sanford's boot.

Jerking back faster, he snapped the drum into place, pulled the gun's bolt, and knelt to a half-height.

More Ghouls were still running in their direction in disorganized clumps, the main group having scattered a bit to overwhelm both he and his robot, who, still was screaming obscenities about the monsters' mothers.

Sanford aimed down his sights, compressed the trigger.

A rapid clacking of tossed bullets, and pocked impacts dotted a trio of Ghouls, where they fell into twitching heaps of eventual stillness.

He reoriented another target, fired, dropped it, and found another- Then dropped that one too.

The Ghouls started to whittle down beneath the popping pattern of Sanford's submachine gun, and Hancock's precision shots with his Plasma gun.

"You see any more?" Sanford called, draining the last of the drum with a hold on the trigger- A duo of Ghouls flung backwards right off their feet as the rounds landed in their torsos and heads.

"Negatory! VICTORY!" Hancock cried, zooming over to one of the felled zombified beasts, and literally blowing its face open with a coup-de-grace shot of his Plasma gun. "-Take THAT, Commie!"

"We did good, but..."

"There can't be any 'BUTS'- You ungrateful sod! That was the best scuffle-n-tuffle we've had in months!"

"Maybe weeks."

"Whatever!"

"-And there is a BUT- Because YOU, friggin' stumbled onto Ghoul city! What the hell did you do?! You blew something up didn't you?!"

"Did you HEAR this phantom explosion?"

"No?"

"I'm INSULTED, that you would assume ANY, explooosion' of mine, would be anything BUT LOUD!"

"Well then how did an army of freaks get tipped off to you?! Huh?"

"I went in the back! They were sprawled out everywhere! You know as well as me and UNCLE-Sam, that trying to silently kill napping zombies, NEVER WORKS!"

"So, what? You just started shooting them?"

"Precisely! Got a good kill record too!"

"You couldn't have warned me?"

"No time for skullduggery! Time for DESTRUCTION! BABY!"

"God almighty... Y-Ya' know what? You suck. You. SUCK."

"Stick it, primate-boy!"

The jests might have continued, had a blaring blotch of rumbling echo not droned throughout the air.

Sanford spiraled back to the green-hued stain growing across the sky, and now saw, that it was frighteningly closer than before, and he was starting to see streaks of yellow-tinted electricity in the tainted clouds.

The very atmosphere flashed white, and the man's legs propelled him in the air in a rushed, startled jump.

"We gotta' go!"

"I CAN TAKE IT!"

"-Nonononono! Not the time for your hopped-up adrenaline, Han'! C'mon! That stuff will KILL me, which means, it'll eventually be the death of YOU too!"

"NEVER! NO! I STAND AGAINST YOU, GREEN-STAIN!"

"God-DAMN IT, HAN'!"

"THAT'S RIGHT, BABY-CAKES!" Hancock flew over behind Sanford, and loosed off a few pointless blasts of his Plasma gun in the general direction of the storm.

 ** _CLAK_**

 ** _CLAK_**

 ** _CLAK_**

"-I'M READY!"

"That's it, I'm using the manual override... I'm done."

"C'MON, STORM!"

 ** _CLAK_**

 ** _CLAK_**

 ** _CLAK_**

 ** _CLAK_**

"BAAATTTHHHEEEE MEEEEEEE-!"

 ** _SHK_**

"-WOOOAH! THAT'S-! That's-!... O-Oh... OH... You... Dirrrrtyyyy... Bassstttaard..."

Sanford was amazed that the robot had such a personality like that.

Because Hancock had gotten SO into his little fight-mood, that he hadn't even noticed his friend come up and pry open the circuit board of his inhibiter unit- The black circuitry bundle above his storage compartment.

Sanford shoved the square cap into his bag's side pouch, found the green wire- The one that functioned cognition programming- And yanked its plug from the sprocket with a tiny click of sparks.

Right after that, Hancock, the unbeatable rage-show, collapsed like a pile of bricks onto the dusty ground with a hollow series of drum-like beats from his chassis.

Sanford looked down at the 'Knocked-Out' Mr. Gutsy, sighed, grabbed one of his arms, and started dragging the robot across the ground back towards the garage.

With the metallic hiss of Hancock's metals grinding against stone and dirt at his rear, the man reached the frontal garage doors, ignoring the bucks his rattling companion made- And nudged the lift-handle with his foot.

The aluminum entry creaked from the lack of use, and, nothing blew up, and no sirens went off... AND, he was dragging a sixty-pound robot behind him, so, it HAD to be safe.

Sanford grabbed the handle with his spare hand, and lifted the squeaking, ancient garage door ajar with shrieking gears and pulleys.

The inside of the garage was just as messy as the outside, and, like Hancock had said, several dead Ghouls littered the immediate area towards the back of the establishment.

Lifted via crane-crank, a rusted corpse of a convertible was held up near the center ceiling, looted tool-chests were strewn alongside worthless contents on the concrete floor. An upper-level beside the work area held piles of spare parts and ruined shelves.

As long as he kept his gear on, and shut all the doors, the rad-storm outside wouldn't harm him any more than the usual dosage of the poisonous air of Earth DID already.

Not a bad deal.

"Held up in Mobley's Garage..." Sanford tsked. "What have we come to?"

Grunting in effort, he slid Hancock inside the garage door, reached up for the inside handle, and yanked the aluminum door down, echoing creaks from rusty mechanics making him wince from the ungodly ambience.

The door shut in a thwacking sound.

And then that horrible, familiar, and alien silence that cursed the wastes of the world eternal, found its way inside this insignificant little garage.

Sanford looked down at the sorry, collapsed heap of metal and electronics on the floor, sighed, and knelt down to examine the rear of the spherical chassis.

He found the wiring he'd snapped, reached into the circuitry, and shoved the tiny plug back into the slot it belonged in, he clenched the wad of wires to bunch them together again. Reaching into the side pocket of his canvas bag, he took out the small cap that covered the internals of the box.

Slipping it back on, he clicked it into place, and stepped back to begin shutting all the entries to the garage while Hancock sputtered back to life on the floor.

A thin sheet of dust-bunnies on the concrete cast away as filtering vents reactivated, a thrum of active machinery when Hancock's engine levitations came back to life.

"WORKING." Came in the monotone 'Default' personality for RobCo robotics, Hancock gradually floating into the air, his limbs draping from his lower epicenter.

The three eye-stalks flung up, the lenses blinked, the arms twitched, and started to move and examine before the eyes.

"-I-I think... I think I drank too much in the pub..." Hancock muttered, ocular devices swinging around the interior of the garage to see Sanford shutting the rear aluminum doors, and walking back to where he had left the Mr. Gutsy.

"You're alive, excellent." Sanford grinned.

"Y-You... Conniving little shrew... YOU SHUT ME OFF!" Hancock barked. "How... DARE-You..."

"You were having another rant episode."

"I SHOULD- Oh... How bad?"

"Shouldn't you know?"

"All I saw was red."

"Uh-huh. Pretty bad."

"Ah. Than by all means, it was required... For LIBERTY!"

"It looks like we're stuck in this stupid place until the storm passes."

"CAN I LIGHT THE BON-FIRE?!"

"No..."

"-Marxist..."

"Got a lighter in that storage-heap?"

"Yyyyeeep!"

Hancock's unit slacked open, and he started digging with his claw.

As the robot busied himself- Sanford started to look around, and, what he saw was what was happening more and more across the wastes.

All that fighting, all those Ghouls, and there was literally NOTHING, inside this place worth anything of merit or value.

Kneeling down to the side of the garage area, Sanford sifted through the pile of tossed papers, folders, boxes and rusty tools quietly, checking round a fallen tool cart.

"-Ah-HA!" Hancock found the source of a fire in that pit he shoved all kinds of objects into.

"Got it?"

"Got it! And it even has FUEL!"

"I'd certainly hope so..."

"-SIR! SIR! Can we burn the bodies? Please?"

"You may not have nostrils, but I DO. And besides, that's what Raiders and cults do!"

"Ugh, FINE. Change your panties and find me when ya' got the backbone!"

"You've been telling me to change my panties for years..."

"Oops."

"Gimme' that!"

Sanford flicked the lighter to life, looked at all the paper fluttering around on the garage floor, and set about bending down to pick clumps of it up.

All the while, yellow-tinted flares sparked from the windows and door hinges, and droning bursts of radioactivity rumbled outside.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Darkness matted into every corner, crease, and crevice of the winding passages like a thick smog, only remaining broken from barely functioning lighting fixtures that flickered dull reds or yellows.

A hollow moan of empty space paralyzed the ringing silence.

Keeping herself hunched in as predatory a stalk as she thought possible- her claws were unsheathed, teeth bore, she kept the physical grimness presented throughout her entire trek into the tunnels.

It was a natural defensive tactic, seeing as the last thing she really wanted at the current moment, was to make an obscene amount of noise fighting off and killing some stupid animal that thought she was easy prey.

The sewers were already infested with the worst of the worst, but now, there was a storm of some sorts outside, above ground- and those usually drove some form of fauna deeper underground, where specimens inevitably became trapped to stalking the passages.

Already, at least once, she had warded off some sort of creature that had stalked her for a few tunnels- she'd seen its hunched shadow, and a growl was emanating from the vicinity.

Of course, with her status in the hierarchy of predation- all she had to do was look at the thing and snarl at it for it to run off in a whining mess.

That was one part of the isolation that she could actually appreciate to some degree.

YES, she was always a tad lonely with the single-bodied traveling and living, but all the creatures and living things around her weren't exactly company worthy.

Most of the time, she enjoyed the quiet, because she had a very negative outlook on the life forces surrounding her, and her being HER, made most of them stay away on first sight. The run of the mill fauna would soil themselves and scurry away when she walked by.

Even others of her kind, the unintelligent cousins, respected her as a roving independent not to be trifled with.

She had these points with her being that she enjoyed thoroughly, but also had points that did nothing positive for her. It could be worse, but she still never told herself that.

In the maze-like corridors of the sewers, she kept traveling east, or, what she THOUGHT was east.

Staying underground for the whole trip had been difficult, because, since war had been what destroyed the world- many sewers were entirely caved in, entire passages didn't exist anymore, and countless tunnels were capped with dead-ends.

Not to mention, for some select hell-holes, sometimes it was MORE safe to travel above ground, than it was to navigate understructures infested with larger creatures- like Mirelurks, or Radscorpions.

When she had been in her social group, her tribe, before the Enclave killed them- word had rebounded a few times in her direction that even worse monstrosities lurked the farther south of the 'East Coast' of old humanity you went.

There was a thin outcrop into the ocean she had observed, an island, connecting to a large metropolis called 'New York'.

While New York itself, and most of the surrounding area, were nothing but a lifeless indent in the world's crust, if you went around the radioactive crater, across its rims closer to olden Florida, or in the farthest outskirts of dead Connecticut- abominations that would even haunt HER were said to live.

She had killed many large beasts that had challenged her in the past, and they all had their traits and habits that had made lasting impressions, and lessons, on her.

But the idea that something out there was so horrible it could undo OTHER horrible things?

Yikes.

She blew out an annoyed gust of air from behind her fangs.

For the longest of times, she had made habits of muttering to herself, and, quickly, that grew agitating- so a new habit of consistent internal reminding, debating, note-taking- became commonplace. Sometimes all she did was think.

It was, really, some measure of banter with another being, her own mind.

Which was also worthy of the word prior- Yikes.

Stopping in her trek, a towering blockage of darkened gloom began to recede the dimmed few lights over surfaces of man-made brick.

She took a last step, and tested the air with her snout.

The air seemed cooler, and the smell of plant matter, clean(er) water, kempt soil filled her enhanced sensory reception.

Trailing cream eyes at the wall, she could determine the structure was a large ledge, and its foot was scattered with a mound of offal, waste, and glowing fungus that thrived from it. Dragging stains of green clawed down the top of the wall all to the bottom, and light was barely visible in slivers at the ledge up there.

The illumination looked gridded, a hundred pillars shown through a grate cap or cover.

Feeling her shoulders slump, she cocked her head to the right wall of the passage, then the left one, and then behind her to the snaking passage that, up until this point, had been a single-route main service way.

A few other entrances she had found had delved into the bowels of sewage processing facilities, surface structures' foundations, and some tunnels that lead more to the north, not east, where she needed to be.

This was a dilemma.

She didn't exactly find it reasonable, nor appealing, to turn around...

She had to go up.

"-It's away from the ape-excrement, at least..." She mumbled under clicking jaws.

Leaning back on her hind legs, her tail rigidly stood upwards, and with the bioengineered musculature her mutated evolution had granted her, she leapt like a cat targeting a precipitous ledge, hailing into the higher air before the ceiling.

She soared for a brief second, claws extending from her reptilian fingers- she caught onto the top ledge of the wall with twin **_CLK!_** sounds, and the gradual tiny crumble of dislodged pebbles.

Palms clasping the rim above her, she hung from her limbs, placed the heels of her feet into the wall, and hoisted herself upwards.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

When the barricade had folded away, the sky had lacked even a sliver of sunlight, the clouds were grayed and matted, and the signs of lethal sparked radioactivity had ceased.

So they packed up the few meager finds within the garage, stomped out the fire-(At least, Sanford did)-stepped outside, and resumed their travels for where they had ORIGINALLY, intended to go and search for materials.

Sanford was actually a little annoyed more than relieved, because, yes, they had avoided the storm- but it also provided yet another setback.

And that setback repeated itself many times over, and would continue to do so.

Radiation storms may have been quick, and fickle, but they happened every few days, there wasn't a week that went by in old Boston where a Rad-storm DIDN'T wash over the landscape, and on top of that- if you went the farthest south, the Glowing Sea was a GIGANTIC Rad-storm that never ceased.

Add that to the roving groups of dirtbags hoping to rob and murder, the hungry mutant monsters, the man-eating Super Mutants, and walking to-and-fro from needed locations was a complete disaster on the worst days.

Not everyone was equipped like the friggin' Brotherhood of Steel...

"I need a vacation..." Sanford dragged a tugging hand down his mandible. "-I need a vacation, and a bigger gun."

"Speak for yourself," Hancock chimed. "I get to fry things with Clarice! HOOWAH!"

Sanford had learned long ago how to cope with the daily cries, insults, and chaotic behavior of the Mr. Gutsy, so, whenever Hancock started one of his rants about pretty much ANYTHING, Sanford could tune it out.

He just kept his feet moving uphill on the sloping land, minding to watch the horizon.

Dangerous things tended to be simplistic.

Thus, Hancock's complex dialogue was easy to blur out for the task at hand.

As Sanford thought this, he felt a nice grin coming across his features as he daydreamed at the ground in front of him.

"HA! See THAT! That right there!"

 ** _CLAK_**

Sanford whizzed his head around just as Hancock fired a single blast of Plasma into an oversized insectoid abomination that buzzed over a nearby rise of land.

Basically, a spiky, overgrown mosquito, the 'Bloodbug' burst into a green paste that splattered in a miniature geyser from the point of direct impact, its proboscis- also its main weapon- flew off in the distance a whipping, green-trailing chunk.

Hancock would've started to mock his companion about the lack of kills, but as he did this, Sanford's arms jolted up, and he aimed down the sights of his submachine gun.

The weapon clattered, dust flew up from a group of new targets, and before either party knew it- a pair of the large mosquitoes fluttered down to the earth in green-stained, chunk-matted corpses.

The robot examined the bodies ahead of them, lowering his gun, glanced at Sanford with an eye-stalk, who smiled like a comedic.

"-Guess you can't call me out on kills this time, huh?"

Hancock darted back to view the dead bugs, aimed his gun, and planted a single bolt of plasma into one of the heaped mounds.

It sizzled on impact, and more green gore flung up repugnantly.

"Nope! I have TWO kills! HE was still alive! HOO-RAH!"

"You're full of it."

"It TWITCHED!"

"YOU twitched..."

"It's a sign of being a stalwart veteran!"

"Oh Christ..."

Sanford wheeled around on his heel and kept walking.

Stunned from the lack of response, and subsequent back-forth snaps between them- Hancock floated in place with a narrowing of his lenses.

He 'Pff!'d, with a hint of garbled disruption- and followed with a quite noticeable unconformity.

Around the raising degree of height in the landscape, very soon, held in the winding, tendril-like grip of crisscrossing dusty roads, a collection of metal trailers and portable structures sat in a clearing silently.

A parking lot holding the dilapidated hulks of several cars and trucks sprawled to the north, and already, they hadn't even entered the Green Estates- and they could see the shuffling, ape-like shapes of several zombified horrors lurking around in the darker corners.

Sanford checked his ammo with a quick dislodge of his clip, and Hancock released a hissing-sound from the warming nozzle of his flamethrower.

"I LOVE my job, sir." Hancock sighed happily. "-And the smell of napalm."

"Then let's get to it, Han'."

"Like always?"

"Yep."

"FOR LIBERTY!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

In a whine of misused, beaten servos- a iron-wrapped cage of encasing footwear, a robotically powered and supported boot- stomped over a final height of wood and plaster debris with a great belch of dust.

The boot's twin lashed out, kicking away a crumbling mound of bricks that clabbered down the piles of rubble like hundreds of tiny boulders, gloves of metal reached out and tore away a flimsy, twisted sheet of aluminum with a wretched screech.

Smog from the prior undisturbed mound kicked up in a cloud, which, eventually, was parted in two by the thudding, bulky hunchbacked form of a titan.

Raspy breathing emanated from long broken oxygen vents, caged slatted metal wrapped raggedly over arms of the servo suit beneath, a broken, dent-riddled chest piece of pre-war military-grade was augmented with street signs nailed over its bottom and top lips.

The beast's legs were partially outfitted with the original leg-pieces of the military suit, with the servo-suit areas exposed protected with more cage armor.

A helmet made of a hollowed conglomerate of wrapped, bolted steel, capped on the cranium with a large, industrial washer- angled back and forth through the flurried mist.

Grunting, the user of the suit waved a burly, armored arm forwards, and as he trotted down the debris, several other thinner, smaller, combatants followed him, faced obscured behind gas-masks, biker and sports helmets painted with vulgar script and profanity.

The Power Armored head of the assortment jabbed a plated finger ahead of himself.

"Found it." He said. "We got it."

Flexing his fingers towards his cronies, one of them snickered manically, hands and body twitching from lack of fix from some sort of narcotic he'd addicted himself to- and scurried off under predefined orders.

The Raider leader took a few steps forwards, toward a blocky, wheeled contraption firmly lodged in the collapsed remains of a brick building.

Reaching up, he brushed his steel palm down the bullet-dent laden armor plating of the vehicle with a hiss of titanium. He kicked the rear-bed door with an ear-wrecking **_THRUMMM_** \- and was met with little success other than agitating himself.

"No'n else could cracl 'er..." One of his subordinates sneered. "-How'll we'?"

"Blow it open."

"Won' that smash the good's in tha'?"

"Maybe."

"Well whatta' use is that?"

"A use to no one else."

"Peh..."

"I don't split the loot with all of you to hear you complain. Now where's that drug-hopped rat?"

"Comin' bac' with the launcha'."

"Mm."

"Whaddya' think's inside?"

"Don't know. But I want it. It's military."

The warlord paced impatiently by the rear of the military vehicle, observing the worn, drab-colored paint livery.

If the transport was of the same age the rumors SAID it was, than something pre-war was still locked away in its hold, and, when it came to pre-war army tech, there were many delicious possibilities.

Maybe it was guns, A gun, armor and supplies... Or it could have really been nothing.

But it was worth the chance.

It HAD to have been, because the last thing he was doing was wasting all this time and effort to simply turn back.

The man inside the raggedy, pieced-together armor had a feeling of something very valuable in this APC, why else could no one break open? Sounded like fate to him. And luckily, he figured even fate could be blown away with a few AP-warheads.

His band would go back for reinforcement now that they knew where the thing was.

It was only a matter of time, and how many rocket's they'd be forced to use.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5.**

 **I was doing this, when suddenly I heard that.**

* * *

Sanford's phobia for the 'Uglier' and the more 'Hideous' fauna for the wastes had, at one point, faded away for his drive of survival.

In a long fabled day in the day, Mr. Tobs actually was so dreading of the worse horrors lurking the destroyed remains of Boston, that he actively tried to cut corners to minimize chance of meeting them.

That was a key player in his 'Missed Opportunities'- that his rookie self experienced many times over.

But now, that it had been a few years, and now that he had shot so many of those things- some of them up close- than he could count, Sanford had a lot more confidence in himself about it all.

His 'Doctrine' if you will, was designed for him and Hancock to take on many times their own number, so, they used guerilla tactics- hit and run, see them before they see you sort of thing.

The few human individuals they had come across had proven their strategy effective to a large degree, in fact, for the bands of Raiders and lawless marauders they had encountered, there had been firefights where their enemies hadn't even SEEN them the whole time.

Sanford had gotten a knack with mid-range carbine weapons, and Hancock had become marksman-level with his Plasma gun, and some of that skill respectively came into Sanford's rapid-fire weapons, and Han's missile launcher.

Bluntly, they were getting much better with their guns, and certain 'Pests' like large insects, or mutated animals, that might have proven lethal in their beginning years, were now devolving into target practice.

It was an empowering thought.

"-Got him!" Sanford cried, rearing back the barrel of his SMG to change the clip.

As he did this, a Ghoul, ANOTHER Ghoul out of all the ones they seen today- flipped forwards onto the cobbled decking of a trailer home, and twitched a few times before trailing to stillness.

Hancock's gun went off in one of the nearby trailers, and a Ghoul's wet scream ended with a few jerking hacks, and the tumbling of wood and breaking glass.

"Take THAT, you fatherless-peapod!"

"Scans picking up any more?"

"Nnnnnegative!"

"Thank God..."

"HOO-RAH! U.S.A! U.S.A!"

The Green Estates hadn't been AS infested as when they had first showed.

In fact, the constant forays they made into the housing complex was the reason for that.

For awhile now, Sanford and Hancock would show up and kill as many of the Ghouls as they could, then they would fall back, and come back again to do it all over.

Eventually, the Ghouls started to dwindle, so, this final attack had been executing what was left.

As such, Ghoul bodies were sprawled in a bunch of the trailers, and the street ringing the compound was laden with twenty or so of the zombified freaks, flat on their faces- if they still had heads left, at that...

Hancock started to zip around and empty out the trailers, humming another patriotic tune as he did so- the hatch on his storage unit was flipped open, and all sorts of metal objects, sources they could use for limited materials- like aluminum or copper- were tossed into the black abyss.

The robot really made his life a lot easier... He helped him fight, was a good guy overall, and helped him scavenge better than any single human could.

Not a bad deal... Except for his unhealthy obsession with explosives.

"Aye, sir! Some old' coot had side-arm ammo in here!" Came from one of the trailer windows. "-All SORTS o' calibers!"

"Good thing. So take them." Sanford called, stepped around a group of dead Ghouls on the patio, to step into the trailer he faced.

"Alright, alright... Makin' me a packmule and such... OooOOH! HEY! I found a watch!"

"Gold?"

"Silver!"

"Awesome."

"Awesome?! My-can! This- is AMAZING."

"You- are a FREAK."

"Proud and loud, baby!"

"This trailer smells like ass..."

"There WERE zombies livin' here a few seconds ago."

"Meh." Sanford stepped over a ruined, matted roll of carpet by the door-frame, clenched the handles of a cupboard drawer and yanked it open with a wooden rattle. "Aw, hey, Han', I found some girl's bloomers in here."

"-Are they spotted?"

"... Uhm... No, here hold on... Yeah... I don't- OH-Oh! Hey-Hey! Here's some! Pink and white!"

"WOOOOO! Sweet-mama!"

"What do YOU know about 'Sweet-mama' huh, robot-man?"

"Don'tchya remember that trip to Goodneighbor?"

"...You mean where we killed a group of guys trying to mug us...?"

"Yessir! That night was beautiful!"

"There's a reason people there are a tad wary of us, Han'..."

"Beside the point! Point being, I saw some Mrs. Handy in that knick-knacks store that made my sprocket-pump go- CLAK!"

"There was no need for me to know that... At... All..."

"Well now ya' do! Oh and, look at this dashing wig!"

"A... Wig...?"

"Yessir! The G.I's office could use this baby!"

Sanford leaned out the window of the trailer to see his robot proudly holding a white, fluttering object out of the doorframe in his search-area.

Sanford squinted, frowned.

"That's not a wig."

"Well then what is it, smart-man?"

"A chef's hat."

"... You mean... Like mean-cuisine?"

"I guess?"

"Hot-dog! I'm keepin' it for liberty!"

The man sighed dramatically, and went back to duck into the trailer again.

How long exactly had that freaking robot been his second in his years out here?

Half the time? A quarter? A third?

It actually nagged at him a bit as he thought this. So, opening his mouth, Sanford went to ask the Mr. Gutsy about what he thought on it.

Then he stopped mid-swing of his tongue, squinted, and remembered the exact clocked time-and-date Hancock had provided with his 'Take-Out' still rotting in his back. Perhaps, for the sake of his sanity, he SHOULDN'T ask this query.

Sanford shivered, and finished his scowering of the trailer, stepping back to start out the doorframe.

Keeping his helmed head low to avoid hitting the top rim, he hopped off the top of the three-step lip of the frame, and jogged over to where Hancock still was rummaging through his chosen spot.

Discarded, ruined clothes, cans and bottle, all sorts of garbage flung out the rear side window that faced Sanford- inside, the robot was rambling about poor housekeeping, lack of pants, and untoward promiscuous nature of Communist mothers.

"Han'? You almost done? Anything else good?"

The Mr. Gutsy zoomed over to the window, two of his eye-stalks protruding from the frame, his claw snaking out from the bottom of the square-opening to hold out items made of needed metals.

Sanford nodded, clenched a wad of cutlery, the watch, and a bundle of wiring

"You're good at this..." Sanford started to congratulate, but then trailed in his own speech when he saw his robot wearing the chef hat he'd found over the top of his ball-like chassis, between the three eye-stalks in a cap.

The young man's brow twitched.

Hancock must have noticed the unconformity in his friend's demeanor, blinked his ocular covers, reached up with his claw, and adjusted the hat.

"I'm KEEPING it." He stated matter-of-factly with pride.

"Ah-hah... Yeah... I'm walking away now."

"Check it out, sir! I'm a POSH-BASTARD!"

"What a flying case of mental-disability..."

"Don't insult my sense of style!"

"Uh-huh. Style. Yeah."

He couldn't help the helpless slump in his shoulders as he stalked away from the confused robotic companion of his.

Sanford couldn't quite put his finger on it, but Hancock seemed to be getting crazier every year he was with him. And indeed, it wasn't something that increased quickly, it was like a slow digress into whackjob-ville.

Scratching his scalp, he supposed it was a better assumption to think the robot being himself as always.

Again, it was another process that would only benefit his health.

"Aye, sir?" Hancock called from the side of the trailer as he levitated out the doorframe. "-A question."

"Shoot. NO- Not literally! Just- Ya' know... What is it?"

"Damn! Caught me..."

"What's the question, psycho?"

"How long 'till these scavenging jobs run dry, do you think?"

Sanford didn't like his own answer to that, because, it wasn't GOOD, or comforting in the slightest.

Just like the Europeon Commonwealth had run out of oil before the Great War, the scavengers of the current wastelands would one day 'Run Out' of scavenge as all the locations in the world gradually lost their mystery and unmarked statuses.

There were only so many old houses, business, and cars to loot before ALL of them had been torn through.

So, what DID they do then?

Sanford chewed his tongue, suppressed his need for outburst, and simply shrugged.

"I don't know."

Hancock didn't press for details- he just floated there, quietly, and made a 'Hurumph.' of acknowledgement.

The Mr. Gutsy may have been a freak, but, he was a good friend... For a freak, at that.

Whenever Sanford wanted the talking to stop, Hancock shut his broadcasters.

"Decent haul," Sanford commented to switch the ground gear. "Help me dig up the rest of the trailers, eh?"

"Yes sir."

"Keep your flamer' handy... I dunno' if we got all of them."

"The smell of charred flesh... Sign of capitalism!"

"You don't have nostrils."

"Why MUST you shit on my parade?! Friggin' Commie!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

 _What is it?_

Detecting the communications in the forgotten, sensory recollections they relied on, she smelled his quizzing from directly behind her.

Misted with the lowly whistling air careening about the tall crag, his question was dulled in the actual wind, like a blood hound would lose a scent on a stormy eve.

Turning over her shoulder, she simply raised her arm blades upwards, and downwards in a gathered, and receded slump, whisking her eyes back at the anomaly he had originally asked her of.

Snorting indignantly, he did not pick up on the cultural iconography she had shown, and grew impatient.

 _Hello?_

Huffing, her nails began to itch at her from the irritation.

Shifting from her hunched squat on the tip of a protruding, stone ridge- her gargoyle appearance tilted forwards to angle her chops in a frown to him.

 _I just SAID._ She released.

Testing her tone with his nostrils, he appeared confused.

 _No. You did not. You looked at me._

 _And shrugged._

 _'Shrugged?'_

 _Yes._

 _Is that... Simian?_

 _Human?_

 _...Yes._

 _Yes. It is._

The male cuffed his knuckles under his jaw in a display of uncomfortable idleness, trailing vision from her, to the object she had been observing.

 _I don't understand you._

If jabbed from the statement, she did not show it. Merely repeating the same 'Human' gesture she had before- the female disregarded his concern with a feigned hiss of amusement.

 _Not many do._

 _The Oldest do not understand either._

 _Shocking._

 _You are so different from us._

 _I'm not from the same place as all of you._

 _I understand that._

 _And?_

 _And..._ His pheromones trailed. _I do not know._

 _Look-_ She interrupted, nodding her jawline back to where she had originally been facing.

The male stepped atop a flatter boulder beside her vantage point, watching alongside her as a small, spherical object, glinted with metallic likeness, zipped away from the clear land down below with a kick of cloudy dust.

The tiny object whirred away over a nearby hill, a green, flashing dot gathering from a thin protrusion jutting from its top.

The female appeared distressed, and he cuffed her with the back of his claw lightly.

 _What is wrong? What was that sphere?_

 _A robot._

He was taken aback by the alien word.

 _'Ro-Bot?'_

 _Yes._

 _What is that?_

"A machine," She snapped, completely dropping her usual sensory commune, she growled at him in shaped vocals that he had never heard from another of their kind.

He blinked at her, and opened his mouth to mimic what few speech he had learned.

"Ma'.. Sheen?" He tried. "-Doe'... Doe-Do-Do... Not... Do not under-"

"'Understand'?" She finished for him.

"Y'... Ye... Yes."

"Expected."

"Shew'... S-Shou'- S-SHOULD... Wee... T-Tell, Olders?"

"Yes. That robot scanned us..."

"S-Sca'-?"

"Come on."

She leapt down gracefully onto the rocky earth surrounding the ridge, looking at him at even level for the first time in the encounter.

"The robot gathered... Data, on us. Do you know what DATA, is?"

The male didn't even bother trying to word it, and just shook his head.

"Ah-hah. Maudis-moi..."

 _That wasn't your usual voice._ He remarked back in scent.

"It's another language."

 _You know two human speaks?_

"Yes."

"L-Leeern... T-That... We-WHERE, come from?"

The female stood silent for a second, and responded beside a curt first few steps away from him.

"Yes."

 ** _CLANG!_**

A mesh cover obscured the surface on ruined bolts and screws, and thus, it was completely child's play for her to shove the piece of steel out of her way.

Hissing from stinging, newly exposing light from the grayed sky above, she fingers enwrapped concrete hinges that the mesh cover had been slid and bolted into, and she hoisted herself out of the dark, square-shaped delve into the earth.

Ravaged, human-made, block structures of brick, stone, metal and wood formed aisles up and down the passage between their girths that she had come from. The ground here was blackened with pavement, walking paths, clutter in the form of lighting poles, dispensers of all kinds, and rusted hulks of machinery.

Most of these things she recognized from her brief examinations of human culture, and, despite her need to keep mobile as fast as possible- she felt her curiosity eating away in a nagging sense within her gut.

Eyes drew over the constructed, now ruined, wonders of a long dead civilization- questions started to flood her mind, as they always did.

She had always been too curious.

It was why that Enclave 'Eyebot' robot had been able to pick her and that male up so easily atop the hill.

That instance had been YEARS ago, so long ago, that she actually found it becoming fuzzy as time went on.

The other of her kind, the male- he didn't really have much of a title to her outside of her recognition to his identity, and he had been the only real source of social grandeur she had experienced in her time with her Pack.

Companionship was never meshed with her life outside that other member of her kind... She had started to become less and less annoyed with his honest desire to understand her as the time in the Pack expanded.

There had been a day where she started to feel... Lively, about him, if with no other description.

 _Why do you always feign this concern?_ She used to ask him venomously. _I'm not 'Normal' by any race's standards. Why won't you accept that?_

 _I do accept it..._ He had responded with hurt.

 _Then WHY do you continue to approach me?_

 _You intrigue me. I want to understand you._

 _Well STOP being intrigued._

That hurt her.

It had been such a long time, and the discussions were material of fable to her, and she felt so horrible about the way she treated him.

He was just as intelligent as her, he could process everything she could, interact with everything she could... But the social barrier, and the reality that they had developed as sentient beings in two totally different worlds- limited his cognitive quickness with her, and likewise.

And now, it was too late to make amends for her hostility, because, that male, and her entire Pack, had been killed and carted off by the Enclave.

She saw him die. It was a cursing memory that painfully did not receive the same time-born blurring the pleasant ones did, but she had indeed seen his demise at the hands of those armored behemoths.

It made her twist, emotionally, and her insides crawled with grief and anger, resentment and depression- they shot him. They REALLY shot him. Pieces of him were taken off.

Her cream-hued eyes did not have the same expunging ability she had seen in humans in their times of mourning- but if she COULD, moistness would have still cascaded from her every single day she thought of him.

He had been a blessing- and she shooed it away until it could no longer be shooed away.

What a horror.

She took lumbering, slow steps across the black pavement of the street, she checked her left, and she checked her right, and she began to stride through the less spaced divisions between the buildings. Her doting made her want to physically move faster, to RUN.

As she covered the trek to an alleyway between a duo of collapsed residential structures, she leaned forwards to begin using her palms as a second apparatus for the sprint, sinewy, lean musculature throughout her scaly hide rippling.

The all-fours run carried her through the aisle with a flurry of movement, and whimsical trails of dust followed weakly in her wake.

She had a reputation back in her past life for speed- beside all the prior mentioned alienation from her kin- in fact, she could outrun the fastest, lithe members of the Pack without much effort, which, was also why the sewers felt cramped to her no matter how large the tunnels were.

Underground was so confined, it never had enough space to simply utilize her ability.

The surface world though, all the open hills and forests, even the human settlements and their streets- provided a haven for her to release the pent up dread and negativity that festered while she was forced underground.

The feeling of wind flinging past her facial features was exciting to her, it reminded her of when she was careless and life wasn't so hard.

It also distracted her on an astronomical level.

Her eyes bugged when a raspy, phlegm-laden screech resonated from ahead of her- her claws digging into the soil of the dirt-topped alleyway, she skidded to a halt, kicking up gravel, and standing to her full height.

The taller urbanized buildings gave way for a larger, open expanse dotted with a duo of houses and rusted industrial vehicles- yet blocking the view of the outskirts of the city, was a wrinkled, raggedy, thin creature that gazed at her drunkenly.

Two yellow little eyes hidden underneath a deformed mug narrowed, crusted nails flexed where they invaded the thing's fingers- and the Ghoul bore a set of rotted fangs in a hiss.

Reclining her head repugnantly, she gazed over the monster's shoulder to where she had been heading, and sighed in annoyance.

"I suppose, you can't just MOVE, can you, monsieur?"

"WEGGHH!"

The Ghoul hacked a bark at her, arms flailing, and sprinting.

"Uncivilized, really..."

Her claw struck out, and the Ghoul gave off a characteristic 'ACHK!' of ruin to its vital systems.

Twitching, with three, curved, forearm-length talons emerging from greenish-red gashes in its back, the creature died in a quick, silent spasm, and, sneering in disgust, she dismissively flicked her fingers- sending the corpse sprawling to the side of the alley.

Taking a note of her now blood-stained weapons, she deflated in annoyance.

"Now I smell, AND look filthy."

The scariest part to her was, she was in the wasteland, HELL, essentially- where the filthiest of the filthy lived, happened, and festered- it was no longer the secluded, calm existence in isolation with a Pack.

Simple things that the explorers in her group would have scoffed at, made her cringe, or outright become horrified.

Raising a brow at the Ghoul in loathing, she examined the gashes she'd made through its torso, noting the extra tear in its body that she had NOT made.

Leaning closer, the smaller hole looked inflicted by munitions- a human bullet.

There was a distant, echoing clacking sound, her head rising to view out into the empty expanse before her.

Quite far-away gunfire, a wounded, wandering Ghoul... Sounded, and looked- like some humans were venturing out into the wastes for glory, or wealth, or whatever it is the apes did war for nowadays...

She didn't have time or patience for it.

Dragging her talons down the brick of the wall with three scrapes, she resumed her sprint out of the alley, and vanished in a blur of movement towards the side-roads ringing the farmlands closer to the city.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

The warlord grew impatient when his lackey did not return with the other scout parties, OR his launcher.

He stood silently for a good while, the armored boot of his suit ringing metallically with testing raises of the heel. Like always when angered, his breathing grew heavy and raspy, but not loud enough to be considered panting.

The armor shifted when he spun around to view the outside of the rubble-pit they stood idle in.

"Where IS he?" The leader snarled.

"How far did we spread out?" A woman obscured by a gas-mask and plated, bolted armor asked.

"Not far enough for that little shit to get lost..."

Drawing his eyes across the rear hull of the military vehicle smashed into the debris-laden earth, the band's leader began to trot up the hills of bricks and wood towards where he had sent the ragged soul under his command.

As he neared a good vantage point, another of his group- One he recognized because of his iconic bikers' helmet he had painted neon green- rushed to the top of the rim of rubble, and held his hands out in exclamation.

"What the fuck?" He called. "-We found it?"

The armored lord stopped dead in his tracks, his brows aching from how high they stood.

Behind the first man, three more armed individuals garbed in leather and metal attire gathered, faces twisted in confusion.

"Were you not notified?" Their boss grumbled.

The neon-green helmet of his man shook dumbly.

"Na'. You sent someone?"

"I did."

"Where'd he go?"

"He's dead."

"Well... Wait then' how-?"

"He's dead when he returns."

"Did ya' send old druggie?"

"Oops."

"He's probably stickin' needles..."

"Fuck him. Find the heavy-weapons team, bring us the shell-cracker."

"Aye-aye. We thinkin' something good?"

"Pre-War military tech, what could go wrong?"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6.**

 **The Things that draw us Together.**

* * *

One time when Sanford had been a boy, a little child- he had ventured behind the fence that divided his family's properties from two other yards, and a small strip of woodland that extended just before the nearby freeway.

Trotting through mounds of unkempt leaves, twigs, forest-debris galore, he rounded trees and avoided the large patches of fern and thicket. The excitement granted to him was not only because of the strange new, not-organized environment around him- but the simplicity of the matter of him disobeying his father.

Being rebellious made him feel action-y, daring, it gave him a rush of adrenaline that felt just as detrimental as pride-inducing.

So back into the foliage he had gone- and a half-hour later, OUT he came, screaming and crying like a toddler when a raccoon had jumped out of a bush and hissed at him.

The experience stayed with him a long time, his 'First Duel with a Monster' he had comically come to coin it in his mid-teens.

The amazing thing that REALLY highlighted it for him though, wasn't just the fact his father had never found out WHY he ran back to the house hysterical-(Which, that too, was pretty astounding)- but on one of the first days that Sanford walked into the fallout-ridden new world, it repeated itself.

The first places that Sanford walked to after emerging from the Vault, were his ruined house, and the far outskirts of the farm fields literally next door to him.

In his shock and disbelief, he trailed into the backyard of his ash-blasted home, saw the shriveled, crumpled little line of wood chips that marked where his fence had been, stepped over it into the same woods.

The green oak trees were gone, replaced with burnt, gigantic and gnarled toothpicks that pinpricked out of the dead earth in droves- all the bushes and foliage had been erased from existence. Ironically, strolling into the emptied woods made him remember that stupid raccoon...

Then his childhood flashed back to him, when a hideous, pink, wrinkled, fleshy and scrawny animal hissed at him behind two razor-sharp teeth, bugged squinty, red eyes at him- and rushed him.

His first Molerat encounter- if documented - would have been the laughing stock of all wasteland tales.

Sanford backed up in retracting gallops on startled legs, so fast, that he rammed the rear of his head straight into a blackened tree's trunk.

Falling onto the dusty ground from the SECOND shock, he scrambled away from what he thought were multiple assailants, grabbed the metal pipe he had snatched up in the Vault- and was saved by sheer luck.

Swinging around onto his back down there, the pipe arced over his body, catching the Molerat right as it catapulted itself over his person.

A loud, hollow clunk resounded, a crack of bone- the mutated rodent curled and made a mewling noise next to him, twitching as its claws wrapped over its head.

Feeling bold, he stood up, almost tripped, reared back with the pipe and hit the animal two more times with it until it stopped moving.

In all-too-planned- it seemed -stages of his new struggle for survival, the radroaches in the Vault were his warm up, and now, he triumphed over an ANIMAL, small and insignificant albeit, but nonetheless, it was progress.

When the long road to his current state had began, Sanford thought he'd never make it.

Now it was years later, and here he was, fighting the good fight.

His family would've been proud of him, he believed. His dad probably would've patted him on the back, spoken some joke about the long gone raccoon- and congratulated him.

Too bad he was probably dead.

Too bad, everyone he had known was basically dead. Even IF they got out of the Vault before him, they weren't in his life anymore, so, their demise might as well have occurred for him.

Every now and then, he felt Hancock's company begin to stagnate at these considerations in his mind.

The robot was pretty human-like, and, probably a bit TOO human-like, than his original programming would have allowed. He made him feel brighter, despite the pyromaniac tendencies and desire for mayhem.

Hancock was a good guy- bot -or whatever you'd address him in abbreviation.

But sometimes the lack of other people bothered him.

-And that was bad, because he thought people sucked.

"Hey, Han'," He spoke aloud, suddenly. "I've got a question."

Hancock and he strolled, and the prior, LEVITATED- to the outskirts of the Green Estates, the rucksack over Sanford's back bulging with shiny new finds, and the Mr. Gutsy's containment module clanking a new store of goods.

The man raised a brow at his friend in seriousness when he narrowed his optics on all three robotic eye-stalks, scrutinizing the human.

"Aye sir. Is this about my new hat?" Hancock queried- raising a claw to adjust the chef hat still draped over the top of his cranial chassis.

"No."

"Well then, sod off."

"Seriously for a minute, Han'."

"You've BEEN too serious lately, sir! This is the grand ole' United States! It's all about freedom, bacon and eggs!"

Sanford stopped walking and gave him a blank stare. Snorting, he waved a hand around where they stood at the surrounding, dusty hills.

"Han', if you see bacon anywhere, then, PLEASE, go get it for me. I must be blind."

Hancock made a garbled huff, poking his hat with his claw to stand it upright.

"You're a conniving little thing, aren't you?"

"Yep. Proud of it. Now about my question..."

"Fine-FINE! Quit naggin' and start flappin' your gums! ...Sir."

"Do you ever wish for anything?"

Hancock's internals made a whining whir as his speech receptors- dusted with age -processed what the man had said.

The robot actually looked troubled with determining an answer. Like a computer failing to open a page for the waiting user.

Sanford tapped his foot, and spoke again.

"-If it's a question you don't wanna' answer, Hancock, I understand... You drop a lot of subjects for me."

"No-no-no... I'll answer."

"Alright?"

"I don't exactly, WISH for anything, sir. -Except for a new Flamer-nozzle! HA-HA!"

"On with it!"

"-Right, right... This is about contacting other people, isn't it?"

"Read me like a book. Is it that obvious?"

"Not at all, sir. I just know you... Unfortunately..."

"Jackass."

"That's CAPTAIN Jackass!"

"So what do you mean, you DON'T wish for anything, Han'?"

"... I mean, I have nothing else to wish FOR."

"You think your only purpose is to hang around me all day?"

"Yes."

Sanford was actually surprised he didn't get some sort of wise-crack, or horribly vulgar joke, you know, like normal.

Hancock's answer was a rigid snap of vocals, that was it.

"What is your view on that?"

"My view? That I'm lucky I didn't end up a heap of SCRAP, like half of my model-make DID after the war. I wouldn't change it. Not just because of that, sir. You and me are meant to go places, we're just in a rut at the moment."

"That's the most positive thing you have ever said to me."

In the wake of such opened eyes for him, Hancock's response was never initiated under the distant interruption of sudden volume.

 ** _PWK_**

An echoing, hollowed and far off bloom of noise- an explosion.

Sanford naturally hunched over, grabbing his gun off the sling on his back, holding it at his waist. Hancock stood there, and made an angered grunt.

"Someone stole my job!" He exclaimed.

"What the hell WAS that?!" Sanford snapped. "-And what are you blabbing on with now?!"

"I'M the one who blows shit up!"

"What exploded?"

"'Hell if I knew, sir!"

"Use your damned-"

"WAIT! Scanners detect heat-dissipation to the east!"

"-Scanners... Right."

"Weapons fire. Rocket-Propelled. THAT-WAY." Hancock jabbed a claw in the right angle of which they were.

Sanford followed his point, and, even though the robot's military sensors had indicated the direction of travel already, he could see a small wisp of blackened soot trailing in the dull gray sky in the backdrop.

Normally, people would try to veer AWAY from where there was shooting.

But Sanford and Hancock were a bit unique.

"Let's KICK ASS!" Hancock barked, chassis-thruster blooming orange in a full fly towards the sooty pillar.

Sanford smiled, pulled the bolt on his SMG back, and ran after him. Human company sucked anyway.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Criss-crossing through a thin outskirt of foliage, scattered concrete road and metal side barriers- Sanford and Hancock traveled to the fringes of the actual city of Boston itself, the western town areas.

As they hurried to reach the sounds of battle, the resounding thud of rocket-shots rebounded through the hills twice more, and they started to hear shouting, cursing, and hollers.

Sanford had a good hunch of what they were traveling towards, because, as much as the ambience made it sound- there wasn't a single bit of a firefight going on here.

"Sir, sensors aren't picking up a FIGHT, per-say..." Hancock said, disappointed.

"It's Raiders." Sanford replied. "Who else shoots at anything and EVERYTHING all day?"

"The Supermutants!"

"Well... These sound HUMAN."

"Bah! You and your theatrics!"

"Ssh!"

They moved over the first strips of intact concrete and sidewalk, past the foot of a shattered apartment complex. Sanford crouched behind a street-pole partially bent over by a snagged automobile with its rusty bumper imbedded.

He waved for Hancock to stay behind the corner of the building's brick wall, and peered over the car's hood.

A hole-ridden brick wall acted as the only blockage to a literal indent in the earth- a place where an entire building had imploded, and been reduced to a crater of debris in its own foundation. A wrecked military truck was long decaying on the street in front of it.

As he examined the contents through the man-sized gashes in the brick wall- Sanford saw a collection of people- humans carrying all manner of rifles, pistols, firearms in general, machetes. All were wearing scavenged armor and leather attire, some had converted military uniforms or parts of biker outfits.

"Raiders..."

"Called it!" Hancock hissed behind him.

"No, I did!"

"Can we kill them?! Please? Can I kill them?!"

"Stay down for a bit, I wanna' see what they're doing..."

"-But Clarice is CHAFING!"

"My SOUL is chafing..."

Sanford stood partially in a crouch by the car's rear trunk, raising his gun- he dashed in a quick arcing of his legs to the other side of the street when he saw less motion ahead.

His boots clogged against the street lowly- hissed when he slid behind a pile of rubble vomited forth from the hollowed wall of another building.

"Stay there! Cover me!" He hoarsely whispered.

Hancock raised a claw in annoyed affirmation- nearly lost his chef hat, and reclined to adjust it atop his chassis-head again.

Sanford rolled his eyes, and watched the Raiders.

"FIRE! C'mon, Boss!"

"-Crack it already!"

The Raiders were yelling to someone- there was a hiss of compressed release- another boom of impact from a RPG round, light and fire flickered in the crater, and there were groans of annoyance from what sounded like a small group.

It sounded like there were a lot of them... He and the Mr. Gutsy would have to take this smoothly.

Sanford hurried in another dash closer to the brick wall- this time pressing his back to a adjacent structure's corner.

The Raiders were occupied enough that there weren't spotters watching this street. He could catch them off guard at that rate.

Smiling, Sanford got an idea.

He slipped his SMG back in its sling- grabbed a waist-mounted sheathe, and yanked at another weapon's butt.

A bulky magnum slipped from its holding- a home-made suppressor acting like a large cylindrical cap on the gun's nose and barrel. He flicked the hammer, opened the chamber to check the six rounds- and flicked it shut before thumbing the safety.

Sanford checked around the corner of the wall he hid behind- and felt ironic at how luck was holding for him.

A pair of Raiders walked from around the decrepit remains of the wall ahead- each toting pipe-based rifles, one had a gas-mask over his head, and the other had a scavenged biker helmet.

Checking the iron-sight on his gun, Sanford inched the barrel around the corner of the wall- lined up the guy on the left with its girth- and pulled the trigger.

 ** _CLK_**

It sounded like someone flicked a rubber band.

But a deadly round flew out, and the Raider grabbed his mask's eye cap and dropped his weapon- body tumbling onto the street.

The second man went to yell- arms raising in a reel from his dead comrade.

Sanford fired a second shot, and any attempt at noise was thwarted when the Raider flung forwards with a thin bead of crimson flecking from the base of his neck.

Sanford pumped his fist from its extra grip on the gun- waved at Hancock -and ran out into the street towards the bodies.

The robot hovered out to meet him- together, they each took a leg from one corpse -and dragged them back towards where Sanford had shot them from.

"-Damn sir! You're good with that pee-shooter!"

"Kinda' like you with that Plasma gun."

"Aye-aye."

Carelessly, they tossed the cadavers to the ground, and idled back to the brick wall across the street.

"These things are worthless..." The human commented- holding both the Raiders' guns under his arm.

"-That's what we have power-tools for, TEAR 'EM UP!"

"Keep it down!"

"Stealth was never a strong suit-"

"HEY!"

They both wheeled towards the wall when a third voice cried out at them.

Standing there in one of the entrances through the bricks, was a skinny twig of a man hidden behind an overcoat with plates of armor tied over the arms and legs- a rotting human head was held via chain-wrap over his waist and across his thigh.

The meat-hook impaled trophy dangled as he raised a pistol at them-

"-FUCKERS-!"

 ** _CLAK!_**

-And then Hancock shot the freak dead.

The boy's head looked like it bloomed red when a green blob of plasma lashed out into his face. The body lurched backwards with the legs stuttering despite the lack of life.

Sanford slowly lowered his gun and stared at his robot.

The Raider's cheers and banter had stopped inside the crater.

Hancock looked at him, then the wall, and made a shrugging motion with his three arms.

"-What? He saw us."

"He HEARD us."

"Do you EVER shut up, you Commie?"

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

"Everything! That's what makes me BEAUTIFUL!"

Gawking at the robot, Sanford's head snapped back to the crater as an entire group of Raider thugs stomped past the fallen body of their comrade through the brick wall's hole- and stared right at them.

One of them raised a rifle and shot once.

"CRAP! GET DOWN-!"

"-BRING IT ON, PAAANNNSSSIIIIIEEEESSSSS!"

Rounds flicked off Hancock's chassis- his chef hat was tossed off with a single bullet passing through the front -his plasma weapon screamed thrice and dropped a Raider with green flashes on his torso.

Sanford reached over and grabbed the robot with his arms wrapping over his flank- threw himself backwards towards the wall corner they'd hid behind.

Rounds kicked up impact dust on the building corner as Sanford fell on his backside with the Mr. Gutsy supported in his lap.

"-Holy crap! H-Han' c'mon! We gotta' get a better angle!"

"I may be best buddies with you-! But if you don't tug my chassis away from your crotch this INSTANT, I'll VAPORIZE YOU!"

"-Damn it, man!"

Sanford practically kicked the robot off himself, grabbed his SMG from its sling, and slung back his pistol.

Hancock floated back to a full stance, looked upwards with his eye-stalks, and saw an open window on the third floor of the building they hid behind.

"Goin' up!"

"-Alright, I'll flank!"

"TALLY-HO!"

Hancock's central thruster roared to life- forming a static buzz in the air like a miniature rocket-ship launch.

The robot hurled an entire story into the air- arced into the window sill- and impacted somewhere inside with a horrific conglomerate of tumbling metal, wood, breaking glass, and the reverberating **_SPROING_** of a mechanical spring dislodging from its hold.

"-I'm okay! For LIBERTY!" Came distantly from above.

"-God help me..." Sanford muttered, raising his gun at the mouth of the corner's alley.

The group of Raiders rounded the bend up ahead- and Sanford drained half his clip at them, sending a pair of them flailing on the ground with rounds punching through their upper bodies and guts.

He ran for his life as their friends peppered the alley and corner with reaction fire- rounds ricocheting across the walls around him and concrete at his feet.

He went down the alley, past a pair of dumpsters, and down a leftwards curve.

Sanford ran with all his might- breath heaving, arms working to replace his gun's clip with a fresh one.

Right as he yanked the bolt back, he ran headfirst into someone.

"-OOF!"

The tumbling sound of two bodies, Sanford fell on his backside, raised his gun despite his aching legs- and saw a Raider standing there with a pistol aiming to him.

Sanford shot him with a trail of rounds going from his hip to shoulder with a series of dusty kicks- the man flung in the direction of the last impact, fell still on the concrete. The young man might have felt a tad lucky-ER, with that save-

-But as it turned out, the guy he just killed, WAS NOT, the guy he ran into.

The guy he ran into was rolling onto his feet on the ground in front of him- angry at being knocked over by someone he'd normally be robbing and murdering right now- and seeing his buddy behind him getting pegged.

Sanford cursed, raised his gun like a blocking element- and felt his arms double with stress when a nail-driven baseball bat clacked onto the side of his SMG- the Raider using both hands to ineffectively bring the implement down on him.

Both humans' arms quaked, Sanford's teeth bugged from his curling lips- the Raider's expression hidden behind a biker helmet painted yellow with racial slurs written on its temples in red paint.

Lashing out with his foot- Sanford caught the thug in the groin, emitting a bark of pain from his target. He used the momentary leverage to kick upwards with both boots- planting them in the Raider's chest, and catapulting him off from atop.

The Raider landed on his heels, stumbled back, and went to come at him again, before Sanford emptied the last of his clip into the marauder's belly. Dust flecked from ten or so pocks that tore through the Raider's leathers and drew blood in quick tiny rivers.

His enemy fell to his knees- dropped the bat by his side, and fell face-first between Sanford's feet with a plastic **_THWACK_** of his biker helmet's visor hitting the concrete of the alleyway.

Sanford held his breath, nudged the corpse with his heel- and exhaled in a blast of relief.

Another close call to add to the laundry list.

Not too shabby.

Sanford changed the magazine for a third time, threw the used one over his shoulder, and stood up.

He checked the corner ahead of him with the barrel aimed forwards- then behind him -saw nothing, turned and jogged back towards the way he was originally going.

In the overhanging backdrop, he heard more Raiders yelling at each other to find and kill him.

This was NOT how he wanted to take them on.

But he was in the mess now. The longer he chastised himself over how what he wanted to happen, DIDN'T happen, the longer he drew out the chance of screwing up and getting killed. Or worse. It was Raiders he was dealing with.

Frowning, Sanford stumbled to an abrupt halt when the alleyway suddenly ended, and a dropping ramp of rubble cascaded before him.

"-Whoa!" He grunted, balancing on his feet for a moment. He looked at the massive crater before him, surrounded on all sides by caved-in buildings, and a single, thin and beaten brick wall...

Oh no.

"Not good." He muttered.

He'd run in a circle.

Right around the building him and Hancock hid behind. Into the crater they had been scoping. Filled with all the other Raiders.

As if on cue, maybe ten more of the freakish criminals stared him down with muzzles of rifles and pistols, two of them had shotguns bigger than his entire torso- and one of them, almost made him soil himself.

Their leader, obviously, the BOSS.

Clad in a scrap-patched, multi-pieced, mix-matched suit dabbed with mechanized servos on the knee plates, elbow joints, and by a set of armor plates on the hips- the Raider heaved ragged breath that was tinged with metallic overhang behind a mesh-like face plate.

The Raider leader was in something that was all but fable to most folks of the wasteland.

Power Armor.

"Oh Christ..." Sanford muttered.

Almost comically, the Raider leader cocked his head to the left, and raised his left arm- whining the servo joints of his suit as he did so- and curled the gauntlet back around the ignition pull of the rocket launcher toted over his shoulderplate.

"How are ya'?" The Raider chuckled in a rasp. "-Lemme' ask you, Scab- how many of my boys did you get before the end?"

Sanford swallowed, stood straighter, and stared at the man's helmet dead-on.

"Didn't count. Maybe four or five."

The leader nodded with an impressed grunt.

"Not bad."

"Not bad, huh?"

"Not bad at all." He poked the chin of the helmet forward. "Gotta' kill ya' though. See you in hell."

"NOT SO FAST, COMMUNIST SCUM!"

Right as Sanford thought his days of survival were done, an all-too-familiar voice barked from the second story overlooking the crater from the building at his side.

Hancock aimed his own claw-mounted RPG out of one of the window sills- lined the laser-bead with the chest of the Raider warlord- and fired.

 ** _SHHHSK!_**

A rocket cascaded in a fling to the Raider's below.

"GET DOWN, SIIIIRRRR!" Hancock called.

Sanford scrambled back down to the corner of the alley- tripping over himself -and crouched behind the wall there, next to the two Raiders he'd previously killed.

The Raider leader looked up once- spiraled around -and hunched lower to the ground when the missile smacked dead center his armor's hip-area.

 ** _PWWKK!_**

All at once, a massive plume of flame, sparks, dust, and flecks of body parts and masonry material belched from the center of the crater- all the Raider thugs vanishing in the attack's girth.

Crashing metal rebounded from the receding explosion- Hancock pumping his claw out the window sill he floated behind.

"WOOOO! Spicy!"

As the smoke began to settle, and the last crumbling sounds of pebbles finished rolling about- Sanford sprinted back to stand over the crater from the cut off concrete of the alley, smiling in amazement.

A handful of mangled, bloody remains lay scattered in the scorched epicenter of the crater, a blackened hulk of metal and junk to its center right standing dominant.

"You got 'em, Han'!"

"U.S.A! U.S.A! U.S.A!"

"-No one, kills MY CREW, except, ME!"

Sanford's expression dropped.

The scorched hunch of scrap uncurled like some animal reemerged from its shell- the thick, robotic limbs of the Power Armor furling by the Warlord's sides, his legs spread in a combat stance.

Defiantly, the Raider Warlord did not even flinch at the obviously horrendous physical trauma wrought on his person- unknown to Sanford or his robot -shrapnel had imbedded in every limb on the man's body, and had torn into his stomach.

Soot drew all over his Power Armor like hundreds of giant black tendrils- the shoulder pad on his right flank had been blown off, both his arm-pieces were shredded enough to see the understructure beneath the plating, his ankle plates were in similar condition.

Yet what struck the two of them- mostly Sanford -the most, was that the mesh face-cover that had obscured the Raider's features was torn away, and revealed beneath it his burnt mug, upper lip and most of his nose burnt off in rubber-looking spreading wounds.

The Raider screamed at the top of his lungs- yanked back out his rocket launcher, and nailed the window that Hancock had hit him from.

The robot flung back inside the building- the entire sill and surrounding walls imploding in a burst of masonry dust and flicking flame with a deafening crash of stone and glass.

The Raider grinned at the descending cloud of rubble- ignored a brick that slacked off his armored arm- and grabbed a new missile from his waist.

"-I'll kill ya'... ALL of ya'..." He aimed at Sanford, still standing in the alley. "-I'LL KILL YA'!"

"Oh-BALLS!"

Sanford did the last thing he'd expect himself to do.

He leapt FORWARDS.

Rolling from the alley, he fell chest first into the sloping debris that gathered towards the bottom of the crater- now laden with dead Raiders.

Sanford grunted as he tumbled down the rocks and dirt- his hearing vanishing in a whining breeze when the Warlord fired his rocket into the alley seconds after he jumped. The entire pathway between the buildings belched dust and brief flame from all ends it exited from in a great roar.

"YOU LITTLE SHIT!" The Warlord cried, seeing the smaller man rolling down towards his feet. "-DIE ALREADY!"

Sanford threw his body to the side- the Power Armored boot of the Raider's left foot crashing in a smacking clack to the dirt he vacated.

Scrabbling on the ground, Sanford reached up, and held something hot, metal, and rough in texture.

He leaned up, and was greeted with a great, soot-marked surface of drab paint.

His hand unclenched from a rent door handle, and his eyes swept over two ruined, parting hatch pieces that had been bombarded by the same Raider trying to kill him.

Six wheels on both sides- rounded, thick armor plating on a fat, bulky chassis- a blazing Army Star painted on the sides and rear of the vehicle.

It was an APC. A military APC.

-And he had a feeling it was the same one he had failed to track down a mere day ago.

"-T-This is it..." He mumbled. "It IS real."

"I'm gonna' piss on the skidmark I make outta' you!" The Warlord bellowed. "Stay still!"

"Crap." Sanford turned to stare the Raider down as he raised his RPG again. Fully loaded. "CRAP!"

 ** _SHSSK!_**

Sanford felt time come to a slow.

Throwing his arms to his flank- he tossed his own weight for all its worth from the rear of the military vehicle.

He neared the ground for landing, when the missile impacted the back of the APC, and detonated.

A concussive force of a hundred winds blew into Sanford's airborne form- sending him flying to the edge of the crater, where he hit a mound of rocks and dirt roughly.

He couldn't hear, so all he got out of his impact was a dull thud, and the flaring pain.

His teeth clenched, heat washed over him, something flared on his leg- and with rapidly blinking eyes, he saw a gash drawing red down his ankle, through the pants he wore.

Dust obscured everything.

He tried to call out for Hancock, and heard nothing. So he wobbled on his back, kicking like a child unable to stand- until he rolled back down the crater's side, and weakly pressed against the drab hubcap of one of the APC's wheels.

Hissing through his teeth, Sanford hugged the rubber of the tire, and forced himself to support on it as he stood. His leg protested, but he started inching down the side of the vehicle anyway.

His hearing was returning slowly, it was beginning to clear the fog matting his very mind- and then, before it was complete, he tumbled forwards when he lost grip on the metal hull.

He lightly bumped against a metal floor.

Darkness shaded a white, blocky chamber surrounding him.

Sanford had stumbled inside the APC's rear compartment.

He blubbered on his own voice, spat, and shakily spun his head about to examine everything inside.

Large, ammunition cases held unknown contents, stacked on storage shelves by the top rims of the hold- a shadowy humanoid shape obscured the entrance to the driver's cab, suspended on metallic clamp-like additions.

He startled- thinking it the Warlord outside - and then calmed when he saw that this humanoid visage wasn't moving... In fact, it looked like it was hanging from restraints. Magnetic restraints.

Sanford's shellshock was wearing off as he fumbled to lean on the chamber's wall, reached up, and ripped off a cap on one of the cases in the shelves.

Inside, there was no ammunition, no missiles, or explosives.

Inside there was a cylindrical, power-plug capped device painted yellow and black. He grabbed one, held it to his face, and smiled at the HAZARD warning label on the side. Sanford giggled in excitement.

He shuffled over to the shadowy shape, found a metal crank protruding.

Slamming his fist in its center, steam hissed, a nozzle flicked ajar, and he slid the device inside, before reapplying another punch. Gears whirred, systems gave off charged bleeps of confirmation- the shadowy figure opened like a flower before him.

Sanford snaked his legs into its legs, arms into its arms, head into a padded hold.

Then the shadow encased him in a filtered, cool environment. His vision lit up with dials, status readings, and most of all- a confirmation message of the fully powered state of his new find.

Outside the APC, the Raider Warlord had just slid a new missile into his launcher, and was aiming it inside the vehicle.

"-Get out of there, you little shit! COME ON!" When no immediate response was evident, he continued ranting. "-FIGHT ME!"

 ** _CLM CLM CLM_**

 ** _PWK!_**

Three hollow thuds of polished, metal heels- and a fist with ridged, servo-supported knuckles, flew out from a towering figure that matched the Warlord's height exactly.

The balled gauntlet crashed through the remains of his helmet- shattered his skull in a hit that could penetrate several inches of titanium.

The massive, armored body of the Warlord stumbled back- dropping the launcher, arms flailing with whining gears -crimson spurting from the gaping hole in the helmet's ruined center.

He collapsed with a great, thundering thud onto the rubble-littered ground.

Dust flew up around the edges of impact, then settled. All was still.

Sanford breathed heavily underneath a breastplate of synthetic alloy, and held up his bloodied gauntlet to the eyes of his helmet.

In shock and awe, he watched as Hancock flew out from the receding smoke on the edges of the crater, by the ruined brick wall- his Plasma gun brandished at first, and gradually lowered as he saw the dead Raider lord.

The Mr. Gutsy examined the new being before him- scanned him -and flinched back in disbelief.

"-W-Who...?"

"H-Han'?"

"S-Sir?"

"I... I found-"

"-You found-

"- _POWER ARMOR._ " They both finished at the same time.

There was a long dragging silence between the two.

Then Sanford wheezed laughter, and the suit keeled over in hysterics.

Hancock made a staticy garble, and laughed too.

"That's not just ANY armor, Sir!" He choked.

"I know!"

"It's considered experimental!"

"I know!"

"We're going to GO places now!"

"I KNOW!"

"You know?!"

"I know! Because we've got X-01, baby!"

"Now- We're TALKIN'! U.S.A! U.S.A!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7.**

 **I Just Got a Key to Godhood. What about You?**

* * *

Sanford could be brutally honest when he said his beliefs.

He believed people were people- nothing you, or anyone else did, would change their inner selves. Warp or bend them, sure, but never a direct change.

He believed fate was bupkiss. If you wanted to make something happen- make it happen. No higher power decreed or didn't decree anything for you.

He believed the world owed you nothing. But in return, YOU didn't owe the world anything either. If you wanted something, earn it. Don't let anyone say otherwise.

However, one thing he DIDN'T believe in, was godsends.

And with this recent development, that last belief was sent clear out the window.

Sanford, had indeed, been sent to by the Man Upstairs it seemed. He was lucky. He was empowered. He was granted an opportunity, that not many people had to grant.

In fact, Sanford was shown a mean to power. REAL power. The freakin' item in question, was called POWER Armor.

-On top of such, it wasn't just ANY Power Armor.

It wasn't the Army-obsolete T-45, or the improved T-51- it wasn't even the heavy, modernized T-60.

This, was X-01. Technically, by the time of its make, it wasn't even standard issue to the military- or what was left of it. X-01 Armor had everything in the way of improvements.

It had optical scanning systems, heat signature vision, energy fluctuation detection, medical systems for automated stimulation-injection, gauss application, and bodily sealing. The suit had a Blood Filter in it! It was like the dream-car cartoon characters bought when they spent all their money and went bankrupt!

This suit would protect him from volleys of ammunition, blunt force trauma- Sanford could walk into a machinegun's cone, and right up to the gunner to break his neck with cybernetic-musculature enhanced gauntlets!

He could OWN the land with this item.

All the boxes and containers in the APC- to boot -held a unbelievable supply of Power-cores. So as long as the suit wasn't outright destroyed, Sanford could run it near endlessly.

The first thing he and Hancock did, was travel back to the gas-station- arm (and claw-)-loads of Power-core containers in their grasps. Sanford found a spare helmet in the APC too, so he took it as well.

Back and forth, the two would travel (and fly-) to and from the crater within the outskirts of Boston, and the gas-station.

"-There's only a few more, Han'!" Sanford called as his metal boots trudged down the concrete in bellowing thuds. "We're almost done!"

Held in Sanford's arms was his SMG in his right clasp- and five containers stacked with Power-cores inside.

Hancock flew up next to him with excited speed-both teammates having crossed paths in their patrol pattern. They'd been running sorties separately- Sanford found it ironic, and omen-speaking -that they walked right past each other on the same back-forth destination.

The Mr. Gutsy cleared the short distance- appearing over a quick roll in the landscape -with a humorous bolster in his voice.

"Sir, we have discovered the ultimate tool of ass-kick!" He proclaimed. "THIS, will be the demise of all Communist filth! HOO-RAH!"

And then, the two passed each other, Hancock vanishing behind his shoulder pad's girth.

As if on cue, a pair of blood bugs hovered over the hood of a nearby car- gazed once in the hulking Power Armor's direction, and- like the stupid insects were expected to react -they started to flutter over.

Sanford laughed at them with a hearty belt, held his SMG out one-handed, and sprayed the giant bugs once.

They flew apart in flittering chunks of green and yellow.

He smiled at the desecrated giblets spattering on the dirt before him.

"I'm done being the scav'."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

She didn't know how long it would be until she happened on another entrance to the underground- because she did not know this region in the slightest in comparison to her old home.

'Boston' as it once was- was nothing like the utterly barren fields of stone and urban sprawls in the Capital- even the city here was more navigable unlike half of the caved-in metropolis she had come to know.

There were less people to shoot at her, which was a plus- but there were more mindless beasts willing to attempt making a meal of her. Ghouls were only a small problem here. She discovered that the hard way.

With a hefting grunt- she slowly slid her claws from the quivering, raw-opened wound of organic desecration before her, growling for a fair point- she drove the nails and front-ball of her foot into the thing with a striking kick.

 ** _SLK_**

The body of a mauled bear- a 'Yao Guai' by human term -flopped onto the dusty dirt beneath her with a ragged collapse of bulky limbs and a destroyed head.

Heaving, she rolled her shoulders from the effort of the fight- looked down at herself, and blinked at the matted blood coating her hide from toe to jaw.

Her scaly body was becoming colored like a scabbing gash... Sort of the appearance to the mutant she'd just killed.

It went through the motions without fail- every time she emerged from solitude, she was attacked by one thing after another- she KILLED, one thing after another. There was no such day that went by out of being alone, where she could go about it quietly.

In the white ringing silence following her latest triumph- she found a sudden stringing-out- if you will -of her nerves that allowed a release in her kempt in breath.

A drawn out reptilian hiss left her jaws, she blinked, tongue flickering out to test the scents flowing weakly around.

The usual stale passage of long gone creatures and people was always evident- the death throes of the mutated animal at her feet was strongest.

The blood riddled space she stood in was a dip between some of the rocky hills that gridded unevenly about the land since the time of untimely destruction that humanity had reaped- it was hidden, and, in irony of prior mention -quite quiet.

She looked about the dead-plants that veined across the ground and the edges of the rock cliffs bordering her right side, the jagged raise in terrain of stone to her left.

Glancing at the carcass, she huffed, bent down on two slowly descending kneecaps- and brought up her claws.

Repugnantly- she took hold of the animal's frontal arm- the one upright and facing her -held it in a clasp, and started working her right claw's nail in a slicing motion through the hide from the shoulder blade, down to the foot.

She knew she was wasting material that another of her kind would never even think of spoiling- but the raggedy fur just... BOTHERED her.

She supposed there wasn't anybody, or anything, in her life to care, and certainly SHE didn't care.

-Thus what was the need for maintaining social norms of a Pack long dead?

She ground her teeth and started skinning the animal with more vigor.

Blood flowed from the wounds less as the mutant bear's bodily systems gradually stopped working from the absence of life- She drew her claw in a scrunching pull down what was crimson, bare bone- brought up a fistful of tough meat, flesh and organic matter- shoved it in her ajar gullet.

Her mind, her being, were utterly cursed with her granted intelligence- because being in her 'Enlightened' state as she was, she still had to LIVE like an animal.

Thus, bloody raw meat was always the thing she was forced to consume, and her own lack of comfort eating the garbage had made her thin during periods of time.

Because she had been introduced to human culture, human ethics and morality from birth (Wherever and however that had happened, she didn't know-) she could not appreciate some of the basic blessings animals would take from a meal of any type.

So when she killed something, she was inclined to... Well... PREPARE it, in some way shape or form, and had no knowledge or ability to do as such.

Her lifestyle made every eating session a ugly event that she tried to end as quickly as possible- she'd obviously become accustomed to it enough to actually DO it, and keep the food down -but it was never, EVER, a feel good moment when she had to.

She kept her eyes closed as she chewed, swallowed, forced suppressing her tongue's sense of taste as much as possible- carved up more quivering red -popped it in, and repeated.

The bear's arm, around the shoulder, and down towards the ribs started to devolve into a bone-strewn spread of crimson internals whilst she ate until full.

Eventually- she dragged a severed rib between her front teeth, huffed wetly- threw the bone away and turned back from the body.

Stepping back towards the growing levels of height from the lowered terrain- she shut her eyes tightly, and did her best to swivel her tongue about in her mouth to just clear it all and swallow.

Her foot made a splashing slosh of loose water whilst blindly she traveled- this caused her to stop and look at the little trailing puddle that had gathered in the miniature trenches that rung down towards the final resting place of her prey.

She saw her reflection dimly in the water- felt her arms drape as she stared at the tiny representation of herself.

There was a large, bipedal reptilian creature- slim towards midsection, with thin, yet toughly textured and layered arms that ended in claws capable of rending titanium.

She honestly believed she didn't look as... BRUTISH, she supposed- as other breeds.

She certainly wasn't appealing to behold though. Not in her opinion.

-Though as her lifespan continued to expand, her self-criticisms grew less and less frequent. She understood she was a frightening being that had been specifically DESIGNED to be frightening. Time and wear didn't help her hide, and her features had turned into a constant sneer.

Idly, she waved a claw down at the reflection and raised a brow when it obviously followed her every motion.

 _I wonder what humans do for past-time?_

-THAT, was the most common question she would ask when she first got into the Wasteland as an adult, after her Pack had been exterminated.

 _I wonder what humans do for past-time? Do they sharpen claws? Groom their hides? Do they sleep? Communicate with other humans?_

-As you could imagine, she was quite naive when she first started existing in the real world in solitary status.

That went away really fast.

The Enclave almost caught her two more times- one time, she was almost killed by a group of humans wielding rocket-propelled weapons. Human outlaws burned down an entire building she hid in when she was forced to end a few of them to escape into its floors.

Adventures, and close calls, were a common thing for her- she figured they were for anybody worth their while out here.

But just because the word 'Adventure' was in the description, did not at all mean it was a fun, exciting delve against the odds for a good cause. It wasn't a GOOD thing, it wasn't a HAPPY thing.

Sulking over the puddle- she flexed her jaw.

Considering all that, a moment lost in space was actually a relieving rest for her.

The Enclave hadn't tracked her yet, there weren't any other humans nearby, no other predators or creatures...

-But if she had anything worth having, those things wouldn't be a neverending worry for her in the first place.

...Holy hell, she was miserable.

Blinking solemnly, she reached down and pierced the veil of her reflection with a dipping nail- seeing herself waver away under the ripples of tan-ish water.

She was REALLY miserable.

Maybe going with a few ferals of her kind WASN'T such a bad idea after all... At least she'd blend.

-But no. Her pride, her anger, her negative emotions towards pretty much anything, and herself, would not allow that.

She flicked her nail from the puddle, stepped over it, and forgot about the entire thing after five steps.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Sanford was unbelievably pleased.

All in a few hours, and, behold- the entire setup needed to maintain his new find was in his defensible home.

The old shelves that had been unused by the rear of the station were now lined by the back wall of the bike-garage, all filled to their brims with cores needed to power his armor.

The actual suit was hung by the same holding clamp station they had disassembled and transported from the APC in the crater- The limbs had been detached from the main skeleton frame -he'd wheeled all the tools he had onto a cart by the side of the station.

Proudly, he stood in casual dress, arms bundled with measuring equipment he would use to get the exact specs on the internal components.

It was the most exciting thing that had happened in a very, very, VERY, long time for him.

All of the mechanical expertise he had acquired in his travels, could now be adopted to fixing, improving, and maintaining a device that would ensure amazing results, if his bravery pulled through.

The armor would soon compel Sanford to do things he would not have done before.

The armor, was going to propel him into the one-time adventure of his life. The adventure that no human being of the new, ruined world had ever scaled.

-But now, Sanford didn't even see any of that on the horizon.

He took out a mag-measure, stuck it around the armor's left ankle, and started jotting on paper.

Hancock couldn't even muster his usual antics- he helped Sanford with welding and lifting.

The only sounds resonating from the consistently flashing, and amber-glowing garage were the screams of tools, blow-torches, and thuds of hammers and wrenches.

"-I'm liking this... Check it out, redone!"

"Swell servos, sir!"

"And new joint hydraulics!"

"What'd you do to the knuckles, sir? They look... SPARKY."

"Make-shift tesla-arc setup."

"PERFECT!"

"Improved fiber-optics, scanning HUD and heat-sig overlay-"

"All the better to find victims and purge their maliciously-ousted faces!"

"-And finally, titanium alloy, melted over with EMP shield coating," Sanford wrung his grim-covered, sweaty knuckles against the metal. "Ready to go."

Sanford and Hancock were like spectators to observe the unveiling of a brand new revolutionary scientific discovery- here before them was a titan of metal, servo skeletons, and home-made mechanical improvements.

The X-01 Armor was truly a magnificently fearsome sight to behold in person- it just LOOKED mean on top of all this.

The metals were made of a long classified alloy that only the American Government and Military High-Command had known of in origin- and it was rare enough, that only a small number of the suits had been created before the Army's final topple.

This suit- by Wastelander standards -was pretty tricked out.

Sanford had spent an entire day, from morning to early NEXT morning, melting down materials in his workshop's smelter to form the right molds.

Applying them with scavenged applicative materials- bolting and welding into place, had taken several hours into that day's afternoon. Then, he had to disassemble the suit's outer plating to get at the skeleton beneath.

The gauntlets and boots were jettisoned from their connections, the breast plate was opened, unfurled, and removed- the helmet was uncoupled and slid off.

-THEN, because, why stop with what he had, yes? -Then, he rigged the internal skeletal frame pistons and joint connections, to channel 'Tesla Arc' energy from the fusion core processor in the back of the frame's body, to the gauntlet's knuckles.

If Sanford ever punched someone again, not only would it be like hitting them with a small freight train- but it would electrocute them too.

He'd gone insane with the helmet's internal drive and motherboard- putting in a heat-signature recognition overlay that he ripped out from an old gun he had modified to a heat-scope. He added a scan protocol to the motherboard's circuit mesh to report fluctuations of either heat, energy, physical movement, or atmospheric shift.

The suit had a automatic adjustment connection that would commune with the receivers in his gauntlets' that would yank his wrists in a steadying motion to any living target focused upon in his helm's center-vision.

So all of these upgrades and mods sounded amazing, and, they sounded unbeatable.

-But Sanford wanted to see for himself.

Nothing worked unless tested.

Smiling, he stood up on creaking knees and back bone to start walking around the proudly stood armor suit in the garage's center.

"-Alright, Han'- I'm gonna' take a nap." He said. "Then, you remember that place where we saw that big Raider band?"

"You mean... The factory two miles from here, sir?"

"No, the other one."

"-Uhmm... AH! The crazed bloodthirsty bastards by the shopping center!"

"Yeah. THEM."

"We're going to kill them? Are we? ARE WE?! Oh-how exciting! Sanford and Hancock, the duo of ultimate destructive badassery! Let's rip their esophagus's out and mail them to their mothers!"

"I'm taking a nap first..."

"Hurry up! Or I'm going without you!"

"Good luck. I'll scrape you off the sidewalk when I happen by..."

"What a dirt-eating pansy!"

"Just give me a few hours, alright?"

"FINE! I wasn't in the mood ANYWAY- I'll just... You know, float around, and atrophy..."

"Do that..."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Have you ever experienced an explosion? A real explosion? One that occurred, maybe a short distance from you, or was so massive- that even with miles of garnered space between it and you -the blast was still processed in its full might?

And this is a question of reality- a REAL explosion, not like a firework, or something you'd hear on a volume-pumped radio, or a television set.

If the answer was 'No'- than you'd be unable to ever understand his plight.

Sanford could not describe the raw power, the strength, force and gravitational godliness of a burst like that.

The atmosphere would shift- like someone would nudge a soap-induced bubble in the froth of a bathtub - heat would wash over you in a melting sensation, your face would feel like a hot blanket was smothered across your mug.

You had the undeniable urge to blink, shut your eyes, recline and crouch away from the light- you'd feel your feet becoming less and less held to the ground by their heels, and the world around you would start to angle in the direction opposite the event.

Explosions were one of the things that never allowed him to sleep.

But it was THE explosion, as had been hammered into his mind- that almost NEVER allowed him to sleep.

Not even two hours after Mr. Tobs vanished in the back of his bedroom-converted chamber, Hancock heard a loud grunt, squeaking of mattress springs, and a frustrated **_THUD_** as Sanford punched a wall.

-If the robot could sigh- you know, when things like THIS happened -he would've.

But all Hancock could do was a make a static-garbled brush of noise from his vocal amplifiers. So he did just that, two eye-stalks raising over the top of his rounded chassis to view the humanoid shadow emerging from the area to his back.

Underneath the pump-shade, Hancock had his claw extended, and was holding out a crumbled bunch of breading- something he'd scooped out from the box in Sanford's food stores.

Nibbling away at the bread was a crow- and rest assured, it was not a 'Crow' as someone who had lived BEFORE the bombs, could describe.

Someone NOW, might call it an ugly, radiation-smacked excuse for a bird... -A lot more might just call it a 'Pest' or commonly- 'Dinner' -because all the nasty-looking birds in the world were good for, was either rations, or target practice to man.

The crow had a spindly body with two raptor-like miniature claspers that acted as its heels- a head supported by a wiry extension of bare skin- its neck- bent lower, two black beady eyes half-lidded, reptilian, scabby beak fiddling with the grain.

Hancock wasn't exactly expecting his friend to be up so soon- he shooed the bird away suddenly with a waving of his claw, and a retraction of the bread.

"-Off with ya! Shoo! Don't make me break out Clarice, you feathered-freak! BAH!"

The crow fluttered away, and Hancock flicked away the crumbs as Sanford idled up to him.

The boy looked utterly comatose- he was still in an undershirt, his eyes were half-closed, and he had a sneer that was still partially locked in the depths of exhausted REM status.

Hancock hovered higher from his lowered dip- saluted the human with a flick of a claw.

"-Aye, you're alive! Hoo-rah, sir!"

"You're still letting that damned bird into my bread box, aren't you?" Sanford muttered tiredly.

"Bird?! WHAT bird?! -I haven't seen any of the Commi' airborne pest-spies for weeks! Except that one... And I swatted him off! See? I'm a GOOD guard!"

Sanford wasn't buying it, crossed his arms and smiled lightly.

The Mr. Gutsy blinked all three ocu-lenses at him, and made a 'Shrug' with the ball-point digits that connected his limbs to chassis.

"I hate birds!"

"If you wanted a pet, Han', we should've found a cat or something..."

"Cats make my dust-filters take a crap! It's like a shirtless fat-ass ran up to me and rubbed their gut on my oxygen grille! It's awful!"

"Stop complaining and let's get a cat as a pet. Hell knows there are a bunch in need of a home..."

"-I'M TOO MANLY FOR PETS!"

"'Manly'? Wouldn't it be like... DROIDLY or something?"

"-'Droidly'? What kind of drag-queen you take me for?!"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"'DROIDLY' is feminine! You slanted wax-application!"

"That's... Actually a term robots use...?"

"Yes sir, it is. I'd be more like, 'BOTLY' Yeah, ya' know- Botly Hancock! Kind of like, manly Sanford! Eh?"

"...Botly... Like, ro-BOT, is masculine?"

"-eeeeeEEEEYep."

"And... Droidly... Like, DROID, is feminine?"

"Rodger that, red-rooster."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard of in my life."

"Stupid, but effective!"

"What part of your central processing did you say got 'Hit a few times'- Again?"

"The Data-Collection, and Interpretation section! Why?"

"No reason." Sanford drew a palm down his face. "Han', let's shut up and kill stuff."

"We're testing the suit?!"

"Yep."

"EX-CELSIOOORRRR!"

 ** _MNK!_**

-Hancock deafened his human companion in a scream across the pump-roof covered plat of the station.

Screaming out the proclamation an entire short, fast flight towards the entrance gate, where the robot promptly planted the front of his entire chassis into the wood paneling with a rumbling thud, falling onto the dusty earth with a brief flick of tan.

A few minutes later- still lying in a sprawl on the ground -Hancock lay motionless as Sanford's Power Armored legs arced over his fallen form, calmly pushed the code into the internal gate panel- and stepped outside the walled barricade wordlessly.

"C'mon, Han'! Lock up would you?"

-Came Sanford's voice from around a hill outside.

The robot zipped up in a motion no naked eye could track- slapped the gates shut, locked and coded them -zoomed towards where his friend had walked off to, chants of ass-kickery and poorly applied sticky notes echoing across the wastes.

-0-0-0-0-0-

The operation had been planned to proceed in a 'Delta' option, but due to the lack of intelligence on exactly WHERE the target in question was specifically- controlled effort to keep their heads down was not applied to the action out of pure impatience.

At the dead of the evening- not just pitch black nighttime yet -a flight of three type VB-02 'Vertibird' gunships sailed over the Commonwealth landscape with full crews of ten bodies each.

The craft were painted a black metallic, drab-ish/copper, and were emblazoned with faded white insignia depicting ownership by a faction that was not native to this area of post-apocalyptic North America.

People on the ground never figured, or even really tried to figure- WHO was flying some sort of contraption above their farms, homes, businesses, and at one point right above Diamond City in the center north of Boston's city zenith.

In a quick span of two hours- the three Enclave scanner vessels had firmly documented most of the geographic overlay of the Commonwealth- settlements and known activity of nearly all power brokers in the area were documented, and submitted to an orbital trans-continental uplink feed with a pre-war satellite in the lower orbit of Earth's irradiated atmosphere.

The Enclave high command was immediately aware of the new land they would soon by operating in- and the good news only became more delightful when one of the Vertibird teams called in a 'Priority Target'.

The specimen that had escaped their clutches for years was on the verge of being taken into custody.

A quick few commands belayed any attempts at landing and physically subduing the creature.

A call was made to the remains of Washington.

From the old capital military airfield, a fourth Vertibird lifted off for New England from its landing bay in the Enclave's machine-like territory.

The modified hull was unfurled, and a gunner team prepared their newest asset to rain hell on the creature their superiors drooled over.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8.**

 **Holy Heck, the World's Converging.**

* * *

Against the dust-patted breeze of the expanses beyond civilization's skeleton- anything metal, or solid with a complex build, tended to become tanned in all the creases and joints of the overall mechanical structuring.

Since Earth had become so dry, and most plant life had died off due to the radiation poisoning that blanketed the atmosphere, dust was a very real commonality that actually proved a hazard.

After prolonged exposure, mechanical equipment could experience complications after servos became clogged, or joints rusted from gathered moisture, or worse- circuitry and electronics shorted out.

None of those options were anything but trouble.

Sanford got though, that those results only happened if the stuff wasn't cared for and maintained.

But the paranoia of losing his new weapon- something he most likely would never have a second shot at attaining -drove his mind to wander on such things that never concerned him before.

He always cleaned his gear once every few days- as his trips into the harsher sections of the area were never longer than a week when he was really traveling- and there usually wasn't enough time for corrosion or environmental auras to play havoc.

But already, the X-01 suit's imposing height and figure had creased all its joints and indents a thin, sand-color, all the ridges had become highlighted too.

Healthily, the joints whirred with each movement of his leg, and with each turn of his head to their flanks.

Heading north- a few dotted houses lined the road on both sides as testaments to the once sprawling urban zones that dominated around Boston like leveled rings of industrialization.

It seemed Ghouls were becoming a pretty common nuisance- a bunch of them had jumped them twice as they traveled. Hancock had been annoyed at his lacking kill-count, and Sanford took glee in mocking him over it.

The Power Armor- and the modifications he had made -were astounding to his handicap-riddled tactics he'd been forced to use throughout his life in the Commonwealth.

He now had a tactical overlay that showed his vitals, his own blood's state of health, life signatures for identified targets or heat-spots, and it allowed the armor's automated aim assist to wire in with what he was physically seeing.

Sanford was now able to decide WHERE he wanted to shoot things, instead of worrying about staying and cover and shooting when the opportunity presented.

Claw marks drew raggedly down his breast plate and his left gauntlet- all of which would soon fade away from the lack of physical damage -as one of the Ghouls from before had thrown itself at him.

Sanford had felt a swell of confidence from 'Surviving' that tumble- even though the Ghoul never had a real chance.

He had nearly torn the Ghoul's head off with his bare hands.

"-Han', how far are we?" Sanford asked with another grin- his pride getting the better of him.

"Precisely a half-mile." Hancock declared to his right, hovering higher to jab an eye-stalk at the X-01's helmet. "You look spiffy in that tin-suit, aye?"

"'Spiffy'?" Sanford chuckled.

"Yes! Spiffy! Now you can threaten people's lives over if they scuff your suit! It's PERFECT!"

"Let's try not to threaten any innocent people, please..."

"Bah, you're boring! Sir."

"-Hey, here's a random question,"

"I LOVE when things are random!"

"What do you think it's like outside of this place? The Commonwealth, I mean."

"OUTSIDE of the Commonwealth?" Hancock asked. "-Probably no better. Probably worse, sir."

"Why do you say that?"

"The only other place I know of that is inhabited, is the home of UNCLE-Sam!"

"D.C?"

"Yes sir! And that pixie-stain's a dump."

"-And a warzone, but don't you think it's weird that that doesn't stop settlers from going there?"

"Why doesn't anything stop settlers from coming here?" Hancock shot back. "If I've learned one thing about you monkeys... It's that desperation will make you do ANYTHING..."

"But think about it... Han', we're not exposed to half of the conflict here,"

"THAT won't last long..."

Sanford blinked at that.

"Yeah," He admitted. "-As I was saying- the Capital might have a lot of fighting in the city, but here there's people killing each other EVERYWHERE..."

"It wasn't always like that, sir. Besides! More targets for Clarice, anyway! Hoo-rah!"

"More targets or not... Boston's city is just as bad as Washington's city. We've been there, you've seen it."

"Can't seem to take a leek for five minutes before some douchebags with guns jump out and starting killin' each other around you!"

"Exactly."

"Where are you going with this anyway, monkey-man?"

"I dunno'. Where ARE we going, Han'?"

"... Well, I supposed I go where YOU go. Don't let that give you IDEAS, punk!"

"Yeah, punk."

"Yes!"

As the expanse of worn, cracked concrete drew out- Sanford heard a tiny bleep sound from the internals of his helm.

Now, he got a little freaked out when three life signatures flipped up onto his screen, and they were all colored red, straight ahead.

Sanford had spent hours programming certain data into the cognitive recognition systems of the signature detections- he matched up physical appearances, radiation levels, and bodily compositions of every creature and animal he had heard of, and labeled them separate from humans.

-Whereas for man, say something like Raiders, he programmed the recognition software to detect sculpts of certain items like gas-masks or the flimsy leather and metal armor the freaks wore.

So these three blips were not human, and by the shown highlights surrounding the walking figures- they looked hunched, muscular, and big.

"HOLY SHIT!" Hancock cried next to him.

"-What are they? You picking them up too-?"

"IT'S THE INCREDIBLE HULK!"

"...What the hell did you just say?"

"I MUST RECIEVE AN AUTOGRAPH!"

"-That's-THOSE, aren't the-"

"MEAN AND GREEN! Where's a pen... I know I have a pen in here SOMEWHERE..."

Hancock's storage flap kicked open, and a claw dug into the contents loudly.

Sanford could see through the sig-scans the figures tensing, and one of them raised a fat arm in their direction.

Oh. That wasn't good.

Sanford swallowed, he took out his SMG from his hip and yanked the safety down.

He went to grab Hancock and start pulling him back towards the side of the path they tread- and then, they heard the bellowing reverberations of the last kind of item they'd ever expect out in the wastes.

It was... A war horn.

It arced in the highest drone, leveled out, and descended down to a whittle.

"-What in processed-dairy-product's was THAT?!" Hancock belted. "WHO MOCKS THE INCREDIBLE HULK?! I'LL EAT THEM!"

"It's not the Hulk you friggin' dumb-"

The source of the 'Horn' made itself apparent to their immediate right.

A green mass- that was all it appeared like at close quarters -slammed into Sanford's shoulders and head with a violent force that knocked the wind out of him, and emitted the loudest clang of titanium he ever had heard.

The world rushed and his head was tossed back in the helm- he grunted, and fell onto his back with a rupturing shake of the earth.

Dust clouded from his land- and staring him in the face were two rows of razor-sharp, spittle-matted teeth, each longer and thicker than his finger-extended hand.

Two little red eyes sat on either side of a pug-snout, extended and rippled with green, diseased-colored facial structuring of a canine.

The world's ugliest, fattest and muscle-bound dog sat atop his armor's chest with a grumbling racket groaning out from its throat- the thing snarled at him, and HOWLED.

It was the same drawling sound of the horn- the mutated beast puckered its snout and screamed into the air another instance, before opening its massive jaws in a dull, walloped bark.

Sanford cursed and flung the knees of his suit up.

 ** _CLUNG!_**

-The hound made a whinnying sound, was smacked off the human's armor with a horrendously hollow impact of titanium alloy across its backside and rear legs.

The animal tumbled onto the dusty earth over Sanford's head, spiraling and flailing on kicking, powerful limbs to run back in his direction.

The X-01 suit thundered and whined- Sanford flinging his heels back to meet the earth without any hindrance at all from the heavy protection, he raised his SMG, and fired right as the massive canine threw itself at his torso again.

Blood tendriled from multiple piercings on the creature's head- it whined faintly, and the great pack animal clanked and slouched off of Sanford's chest and stomach plating.

He sneered and flung his arm to discard the corpse from its sprawl on him.

Turning back to Hancock- he saw the robot tearing out his buzz-saw weapon from a duplicate monster's bloodied neck area.

The green, vein-laced body twitched still when the crimson encrusted saw whirred free of its throat with a squelch of flesh, Hancock spiraled to check on his companion over the mounded casualty he'd inflicted.

"-Oh, don't worry, I wrecked it's face!" He confirmed. "You alright, sir?"

"Mutant Hounds," Sanford said. "They're Super Mutants!"

"-And now, we don't-!"

"-Have to run!"

"... I like this idea, sir."

"Hancock," Sanford laughed, checking over his shoulder at the dead hound, he aimed his SMG ahead. "-Let's kick ass!"

"FOR LIBERTY!"

-For the first time in Sanford's life, he actually felt a rush of energy from his deranged friend's metallic vocals.

For the first time ever, Sanford ran at the enemy like a crazed maniac- just like his robot friend.

You could even say, his robot friend, was starting to rub off on him. A few days ago, and the boy would have shot himself. Now, he'd have it no other way.

He was going to change things.

He had the weapons skills, he knew when to keep his head down, and he knew who and what to shoot at and when. Sanford had been a warrior underneath his scavenger's ingenuity- no master warlord, by far.

However, he didn't need to be an unbeatable demigod in combat- as combat was what ran the wasteland at the end of the day, and Sanford had always known what he was doing, NOW, the armor would enhance that.

He had big plans. BIG plans.

These Super Mutants were just pawns to be swat aside.

It was perfect.

"-Flank right!" Sanford called. "I'm heading right down the center!"

"That's MY job, you plebian!" Hancock protested.

"Flank right!"

"Oh... FINE! Fine!"

The suit's boots thudded into the earth with hollow thrums- Hancock's central lower thruster barked, and the robot catapulted himself over a raise in the land to their right.

Visibly before him, marked with red outlines in his suits visual recognition scans- the three Super Mutants grew in detail as Sanford footworked over the leveling terrain.

They were bulbous, muscular, green and chiseled- just like their hounds-they had complex faces with large chins, slit eyes, pug noses, and were bald atop green craniums. They had all sorts of patchwork protection on them- tire halves, strips of metal, and parts of automobiles.

These guys- to Sanford's scavenger self -would have been bad news.

Yet Sanford the scav', had taken a hike today.

-So here came Sanford the armored titan.

"Eat it!" He screamed- leveling his SMG, and draining half the drum at the Mutant in the center of the group.

The former-human jerked awkwardly from bullet impacts about his arms and torso, it made a dull scream, and its two fellows dove out of the way to avoid the volley.

One of them compressed on his gut, aimed over a raise in the dirt with a rifle.

The other sidestepped behind a tall boulder- one of the mesh of rocks unevenly gridding the landscape -and fired a few pot shots from a rapid-fire pipe-weapon.

Sanford saw blood cloud out from the multiple wounds on the Mutant he chewed up.

The bulky body stumbled back with thick, clambering legs, a groan drawling from its maw.

Sanford went to take cover himself- but what he observed next stupefied him.

The Mutant's hands tugged at its shoulders, its chest- it made a high pitched, raggedy roar, English words blubbered and blurred, referring to ripping the 'Metal-Man's' guts out.

The Mutant fell on a knee, grabbed up the gun it held, and raised it limply at him with one hand.

Sanford's jaw slackened- he compressed the trigger on his submachine gun for a quick spray- rounds punched in and around the creature's head, and it flattened face first to the ground in a quick snap of motion.

How had that thing... SURVIVED?

Sanford, with all his experience, had a LOT to learn about the warfare of the wastes.

"Shit!" He cursed, heart leaping, when a red flare highlighted the bottom of his visor- he heard a flickering of steel, and saw sparks slack off in three places on his chest.

The Mutant behind the rocks returned fire- that, if Sanford had not been in this suit, probably would've killed him.

The human back-peddled, draining the remnants of his drum at the rocks- a round punched off in a glancing flicker by his arm when the rifle-wielding Mutant joined the covering fire.

Grabbing another drum magnetically adhered to his back-plating- Sanford pulled his SMG's bolt back, and aimed over the raise in the terrain he had jumped behind.

Chancing a peak over the land- he saw the hunched over form of the Super Mutant with the pipe-weapon, for only an instance, before his rifle-bearing comrade pumped another round straight into the dirt before Sanford's helmet.

He swore and ducked back.

This whole front-line combat wasn't as easy as he'd thought, huh?

Shaking his head, Sanford's leg servos whirred as he stood to his full height- and unloaded at the Mutant emerging from the rocks.

It ran from terrain blockage to terrain blockage- vaulting behind a another rock, and then a fallen log- a few rounds even ate into the Mutant's form, and it still kept moving.

The would-be sniper fired again, and a round bounced off Sanford's left shoulder plating with a flashing flicker.

"Damn it, Han', where are you..." Sanford muttered- stepping over the indent in the dirt, and advancing towards the enemy position.

"TIME FOR A FACE-FULL OF ASS-WHOOP, BASTARDS!"

Ah. There he was.

Green bolts shot into the area where the rifleman hid, and Sanford understood that he now had covering fire.

He sprinted with all the might his Power Armor could afford- rumbling across the rough land towards the closest Mutant he had seen, the one hiding behind the rocks.

He thundered atop a flat-planed boulder, aimed his gun over the edge, and stared right into the face of a bewildered, and confused Mutant warrior.

The thing had trails of crimson drawing from the glancing hits on its arms and body- and its face was permanently twisted in a grimaced sneer that shown an underbite from gnarly, yellowed fangs.

Sanford blew the thing's face off with a burst of bullets from his SMG.

 ** _CLCKCLCKCLCKCLCKLCKL_**

-It's head vanished in a plumage of red, flecking darker crimson, and ruby-stained fragments of tan-white.

Sanford reaffirmed the gun towards the riflemen- saw the freak stand up with its gun still training on him -and drained more of his drum before the other could react.

 ** _CLCKCLCKLCKLCKLCKLCKLCKLCLK_**

The bullets tore through its gut and hipline with coughs of dust tinged red- the Mutant fell on its knees, raised its gun anyway, and died when Hancock finished it off with a few green blobs flying into its chest.

The body tossed back with raised arms, green soot misting from its eviscerated breast cavity.

Sanford watched the cadaver tumble- and let out a held breath as he started to change his drum.

"Nice shot, Han'." He called over his shoulder.

"DEAD-EYE-! -Or... Dead-Chest... You know what I mean." Hancock cheered. "Fine work, sir!"

"-That was..." Sanford laughed breathlessly. "-That was actually the stupidest move I've ever pulled out here before. EVER."

"But we just face-skewered the Incredible Hulk! Our enemies are SCREWED, you Pansy!"

Hancock flew over to swat a claw in a cuff on the back of Sanford's suit with a dull clung of impact.

Sanford turned around to face him, and blinked behind the helmet.

"Next time... A LITTLE tactical thinking, should be good, yeah?"

"Ugh... If you INSIST."

"Yeah. Might avoid more fire... Now," The human waved an arm over the three corpses. "-Let's take their stuff."

"BOO-YAH!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

She hadn't slept in a week.

In a whole week.

Not just periodic trouble keeping her closed, like- she had not laid or sat down to rest at all, in a WEEK.

When she idled in that ravine, she leaned back on her haunches for less than a minute- and she passed out so fast and powerfully, that even when she tilted, and fell face-first onto the ground, it didn't wake her up.

Curled on the earth with thrumming snores, that lovely dozing was drawn to a point where she had started to dream.

For awhile it was simplicities- she dreamed of running freely, she felt a falling sensation, and they all were exotic sensations that did not disturb her in the slightest.

Her mutated genotypes had constructed her body to run without sleep for days at a time. In addition to being physically durable, and environmentally invincible to all but the most crippling of natural or unnatural conditions- she could expend very little energy to do a lot.

But even her kind ran out of juice eventually.

It took a week this time.

She saw it as a bit of an accomplishment- last time it took a mere five days.

Shifting in her swimming emotional broil, she clawed at a few opportunities to envision certain things, and lost them in the sea of shadow.

Her mind was on a bit of overdrive- she had never been in control of her dreams before, and now was no different. Her chops pursed in concentration when a particularly stirring image of comfort came, and was soon long gone before her brain could get a hold of it.

Uncomfortably, and in anger- she rolled onto her back.

-And just like that, the beautiful dull of her senses lifted, cold met her nostrils and all of her head at once.

Her yellow eyes flicked open, and the view of a million stars penetrating the radiation-blasted nighttime atmosphere came to her comprehension.

For a while she held her breath in, hopelessly trying to believe the array of constellations was another bout of her mind forging visions in her sleep.

But after awhile, her full cognitive ability washed into her system- she felt cheated of the nice peace, clenched her jaw, shut her eyes-

-And quelled her rage with a trembling exhale.

It wasn't worth it.

Getting enraged at everything just made EVERYTHING harder.

She worked her muscles, grumbling and huffing to a sitting-up angle on the ground. She winced, feeling a stinging cramp by her backside, and flicked her tail out from its catch beneath one of her thighs.

The corpse of the bear she'd killed was still piled on the other side of the ravine- and the trails of stagnant blood that stained the ground in little trails to the edges of the ravine's height, shown that scavengers had picked at the bones while she slept.

Of course, she didn't care.

She felt a little cheated again, when she wished one of those scavengers had been predator and had taken a chance with her throat.

She really, didn't care anymore.

Growling, her legs' protesting ceased with some lithe stretches of her limbs.

She supposed staying in one place wouldn't be a good alternative then to keep running.

The air buzzed, and she swatted at her hearing slits in agitation. Her own body wasn't even letting her enjoy pleasantries of things such as this anymore. The longer she traversed the wastes, the more she came to see how effective the Enclave's strategy was.

Their technology always kept pace with her speed- and not a single one of their operatives were even breaking a sweat, and they knew that time would eventually maker her screw up.

She wasn't even a priority- she was a side project that shifting teams maintained on their downtime while the Enclave concentrated on pressing matters to their overall stature.

It made her feel small, and sick of it.

Irritated by the buzzing in her hearing- she stopped swatting, and angled her head up to the sky.

-She was brought to see that the droning was not because of her sleepy system.

Springing to her feet, she hunched down and bolted to the deepest crag the ravine had to offer, all of her limbs scrabbling madly over a few rock indents, to press her scaly back underneath the arching girth of the tall terrain.

Heaving in nervousness, she grew rigidly still when the droning evolved into a sound she had learned to dread.

 ** _WHMWHMWHMWHMWHMWHMWHMWHM_**

-Rotary blades.

The seething of a metallic fuselage piercing through the air in a whistle.

Aircraft.

Vertibirds.

Her breath caught in her throat when the craft's cry grew louder, and louder- and a slight breeze kicked up some dead foliage on the ground in the center of the ravine.

The swinging propellers screamed overhead the earth she hid under- like someone had shot a bullet that had flown clean past her hearing slit.

 ** _WHMWHMWHM-VVVVVVWHMWHMWHMWHM..._**

-And then it was gone.

Silence injected itself in a hearty dosage throughout the night again.

Chest bucking in heavy inhales- she peeled slowly away from the arched rock, angling her head in a corner-raise to the sky above as she revealed herself to the center of the ravine again.

The sky was devoid of any shape or sign that the cursed craft had even been there.

Who knew, she might just be having another friggin' dream.

Shrugging off her skepticism- she hurried to one of the ledges that lead up to the plateaus ringing the crag's exterior- climbing up rocks and jagged pieces of earth with the skill of an ape up a jungle tree.

She peaked over the raising land, examining the sky to the ravine's right. She looked over her shoulder to see the opposite side of the bowl's rim she stood atop.

Nothing.

No there was nothing on that sid-

-Wait.

... ** _WHMWHMWHMWHMWHMWHM-_**

"Oh merde'." She hissed.

The growing bulge in the blue-black air was at first a small dot.

But now it was becoming the size of her fist up there, and she could hear it.

She needed to run.

She needed to run NOW.

-With a blur of movement- her arms and legs went into overdrive, carrying her in an unbelievable display of parkour movement away from the ravine, now completely forgotten in her working brain.

She leapt over fallen logs, wheeled between trees, and vaulted rocks.

Breath left her in steady bouts, her genetically perfected muscular systems filtering blood and oxygen in a synchronized harmony that no creature of similar speed could match.

The air whizzed by her face, coldness brushed her shoulders and chestline.

As she sprinted, the rotary blades were only getting louder.

Now as she fled for her life, there wasn't just wind flying past her face and frontal body- there was a draft that channeled down her spine and the back of her neck.

 ** _WHMWHMWHMWHMWHMWHMWHMWHMWHMWHMWHM_**

The propellers were right over her.

Dead plant clumps and small flecks of pebbles were tossed from the ground around her feet.

 ** _CLZZ_**

The night became daytime, and a scything pillar of pure white flickered to life from the Vertibird's flank, enveloping her form in a perfect cylindrical beam of illumination.

Even from the ground, caught in the spotlight, hearing drowning in the scream of the propeller blades- she heard the horrible whirring from where she was.

 ** _vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVMMMMMMMMMMMMMM_**

-And then, before she heard the release- a recurring pillar of shredded earth repeatedly kept speed with the back of her legs.

 ** _PHM PHM PHM PHM PHM PHM PHM_**

The Enclave soldiers were shooting at her with a God damn autocannon.

This wasn't good.

Rounds tore hubcap-sized miniature welts in the ground that she barely vacated before each impact- she leapt in a side-wind behind the hulk of two dead trees- and flinched amid her run when they both fell over like toothpicks crushed under a boot's heel.

The autocannon chewed up everything that she got over and around- trees were split down their centers, rocks even cracked beneath the hits.

A rusty dead car was coming up fast to her run- so she pushed her arm muscles into a great rear- leaping clean over the automobile's roof.

Her tail burned when sparks kicked up right behind her.

 ** _-MNK MNK MNK-_**

-The autocannon put three clean, magma-edged holes through the car from top to bottom.

She needed an escape route.

But all there was here was open terrain.

She may not have wanted to live anymore- but the last thing she was going to die from was the ENCLAVE.

'Hell to them.

The shadow of a structure was coming to view.

It was a chance.

Some old warehouse-looking building- ringed by tons of cars and discarded appliance-like debris.

It would have to do.

Wheeling her sprint to the left- she swung around a pair of boulders, and threw herself at a window that was evident on the building's flank.

 ** _CRSH!_**

-She shattered the already fractured glass, and splintered wood from the outer coverings of the concrete skeleton of the building's structuring.

Tumbling through aluminum shelves, she didn't even process the discomfort, rolling and tumbling through the wide, open chamber, tossing bent debris left and right.

Three rounds from the Vertibird tore thrice gashes in the wall of the sill she'd collided through, ripping into a concrete floor with sprays of dust.

Panting in a sprawl with all the tossed shelving units and the things on them- she heard the rotary blades grow dim for a moment- before they grew loud again.

The Vertibird's roar stayed the same volume, wind fluttered all kinds of small trash from the smashed, large industrial window sill. Glancing around herself- she saw a single, large garage door, and she went to sprint for it.

But then, she heard the unmistakable sound of a metallic thud- right outside that general flank of the building.

 ** _THM_**

Then there were two more.

 ** _THM THM_**

-And finally three.

 ** _THM THM THM_**

The Vertibird's howl shifted away from the sill, to the opposite angle of the building's exterior.

 ** _THM THM THM THM THM THM_**

-Six more impacts on that side too.

Heavy footfalls resounded behind the door, outside the window, and from behind the wall she was closest to.

They were going to either force her out to the mercy of the autocannon, or these soldiers would shoot her.

Looked like the end of the line at last.

-And then she looked down, and saw the answer of a prayer she did not make.

Scrambling through the mess she'd created- she tossed a smashed work-bench's shell clear across the room, dug her nails underneath the mesh-covering's ridge, and heaved the plate open to reveal a square, shadowy drop.

Right as the darkness overtook her- a green bolt of energy slapped into the rim of the hole's top, close enough for heat to wash over her left horn.

Down into whatever subterranean facility this lead too she went- a pair of helmed heads peered down the trench after her, and held fingers to communications beads by their chins.

"Negative. Lost it." One said.

"God damn it."

"Fall back to Eagle-6. Rendezvous with Eagle-5 and 7."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9.**

 **Going... Going... There's Another Going Too.**

* * *

He never imagined killing things would have been such a big thing in his life.

He never imagined he'd ever have to kill anything in general to get by.

There was a clarity of innocence.

It was brief, and it unfortunately did not stand out from the blurriness of time anymore, but it was there, it HAD been there anyway...

Now though, Sanford had been down the road too far to consider that old time.

He had killed things. Animals, monsters, people, just to survive. And he had done it a lot.

Life, in the wasteland, was just another resource that some did not have value in or for. It was not cherished, and it was not preserved- to the most powerful and corrupt, life was another form of ammunition to expend in gaining influence.

All this time, Sanford had been expending this ammunition being thrown at him.

Now, he was burning through it.

A small tinge of corruption was lacing him a bit.

After all, things like thugs and lowlives... Creatures he'd never have gone near before, were falling under his boots one after the other.

Sanford heaved with effort- pulling free his red-coated gauntlet from the caved-in structuring of a Raider goon's gut- he pushed the twitching man's shoulder with the side of his gun, and the body toppled with a few convulsions onto the concrete.

Snapping his weapon to aim down the sights- Sanford fired once -someone fell from the mesh balcony above the level he stood in, impacted an old industrial generator's roof with a hollow thudding, and vanished in a pile of junk in the back of the factory.

Breathing profusely, he stepped over several ankles, arms, limbs in general that splayed from a number of dead marauders that lie strewn the center of the chamber.

The Raiders were caught by surprise. After all, everyone in the area knew who they were, what their reputation was- how could any of them suspect some lunatic in a titan-suit would burst through the front door and starting machine-gunning everyone?

No one. That's correct.

Sanford and Hancock had gone to town- it only took a few minutes, Sanford killed what looked like guys in charge, and the Raiders started to try and run.

A few held out until the end- it WAS Raiders in question.

But many of the shots he and Hancock had made for the killing blow, were in Raiders' backs.

However, on the contrary thought of say feeling guilt- Sanford could not feel sorry for the destruction of these people. They were evil, evil, EVIL lowlives. They did horrible things to innocent people. They were scum. Sanford was just the sponge to scrape them away.

Hancock's static-laced voice contacted him via communication bead in the chin of his suit's helmet.

"-Building is clear, sir!"

"Good. Come back to me."

The factory was caught in a solemn silence after the fight, the whole world must have felt the same surreal feeling he did.

Sanford placed a gauntlet on the hip of his suit, getting a rattling noise of all the stuff he had magnetically hung there like some makeshift backpack.

They were going to be RICH after all this. The amount of caps, weapons and ammunition was staggering.

Smiling heartily, the scavenger wheeled around when Hancock levitated down from a mesh platform over his head.

"Ding-Ding! Bottom floor- cadavers, free pickups and skewered faces all in one!"

"This is unbelievable. We're getting so far in just a day, Han'."

"Unbelievable, and DASHINGLY EPIC!"

Sanford and Hancock would soon move to depart from the complex- traversing a maze of carnage that they rendered from the previously marauder-owned fortress.

Matted in sweat, and stinking profusely- Sanford was grateful his robotic companion didn't have nostrils, because after all that running, dodging, side-stepping and melee fighting- he was ripe. REALLY ripe.

"You smell like a walking dumpster, sir! Just thought I'd point that out."

Sanford's grateful grin flat-lined.

Actually, thinking about it, Hancock was an asshole. Nostrils or not.

Walking, and levitating through the wastes they went- and not even a mile away from the factory, they heard a peculiar drone in the ambience of the sky above.

 ** _whmwhmwhmwhmwhmwhm-_**

"-What the hell is that?" Sanford muttered, helm jutting to view the sky.

"Maybe it's a dying elk!" Hancock reasoned.

"Yeah, SURE. Could be the Incredible Hulk taking a crap too, right?"

"Go suck on some twigs, monkey-man!"

"Shut up already-"

 ** _WHMWHMWHMWHMWHMWHMWHMwhmwhmwhmwhm..._**

A breeze kicked a whole blast of dust about them as a flying titan passed maybe a few feet above their position.

In fact, the clouding was so quick- that Sanford's gauntlet was still raised with a jutting finger as tan clogged the face of his helmet.

Sighing in agitation, he held the back of his SMG with one hand and used the other palm to draw down the eye-slots of his facial protection with two metallic creaks.

Shaking his head to dislodge some of the grit- he waited for Hancock's degrading comments about how he looked like a walking dirt-claud, but was somewhat relieved to hear the robot give an all-too ironic response all his own.

"-Sir! It's dark!"

The robot's eye-stalks looked like brown balls of dust, and Sanford couldn't help but laugh loudly at the fumbling Mr. Gutsy as his metal-arms swung about in mid-air.

"SANFORD! HELP ME!"

"Looks like the Hulk took a dump on your head, Han'!"

"-SCREW YOU! SCREW. YOU. ALLLL!"

"Calm down, just let me-"

"Find a rag or something! MAYDAY!"

"Shut up!"

Sanford reached up and swept the fingers of his gauntlets down each eye-lens separately, earning an eventual silent glare from the robotic contraption as he scrutinized his friend with a keen sense of annoyance.

The scavenger shrugged and snickered.

"I fixed you! You know... Again."

"Speak of this, and I will drain motor-oil on your head as you sleep."

"Ouch. I mean- ew."

"What WAS that thing earlier, sir?"

"I think it was a plane."

"A plane? Out here? You found some Jet or something back there didn't you!"

"Yeah. I didn't take it."

"WHAT?! Why not?! We could've sold it to some druggies!"

"I'm not going to be a dealer, you dunce... People suffer out here enough."

"Damn goody-two-shoes!"

"Cry me a river."

Sanford turned to view a gradually shrinking shape in the air above- a winged blur that reflected the afternoon sun off of a copper/drab metal hull.

Squinting, he heard another thrum of rotary blades- the craft took a sharp turn right, and vanished over the horizon with a distant echo.

"Looked like a Vertibird." Sanford said. "Who the hell owns Vertibirds?"

"Didn't look like a douchebag-of-steel craft to me, sir."

Smiling at the commentary, Sanford indicated the direction of the craft with his finger.

"You wanna' follow it?"

"And risk pissing off an obviously highly-organized militarized faction, that obviously knows its way around pre-war tech, that OBVIOUSLY is using it for some unforeseen doomsday plot, that OBVIOUSLY will require any witnesses to be vaporized...?"

Sanford looked at his friend with a raised brow.

"W-Wow, Han'... Do you, like... Know something...?-"

"-OH, no-no... I was just, you know, coming up with the stereotypical outcome to these kinds of encounters! I don't know who or what was flying that thing, it could've been an old lady searching for her cat! Right?"

"But that other risk still stands?"

"Yep. Yep it does."

"...I'd risk it."

"To stop bad-guys?"

"Why not, huh?"

"Well, then count me in."

"Sounds good."

"Sounds like LIBERTY!"

"Enough with the 'Liberty' crap, you're giving me a headache!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

The darkness swallowed her, and the floor bit against her heels in the form of a gigantic slamming noise of metal.

Water flowed freely in a tiny stream that didn't even submerge her smallest clawed-toe down the center of a cylindrical, metal-ribbed tunnel. Her breathing had still not calmed at all since her run- which, now, had lasted an entire night.

Her escape back into the sewers was by chance- and she didn't stop moving even hours after escaping the Enclave strike team on the surface.

The tunnels were quicker for her to traverse, as she had been using them as places to move undetected for years. Nimbly she skittered down all the passages, surprisingly not coming into contact with any form of fauna.

She thought it so because she was moving with absolutely no caution.

She didn't care about being quiet anymore, she wanted to get as far away from where the Vertibird spotted her above. As if on an ironic cue- a shape unfolded from a pile of offal gathered in the rounded ridge of the tunnel.

The murky-covered humanoid shape raggedly growled in her advancing direction- she swatted the thing clean in two as she shoved past with a **_SLK!_** shouldering the torso and legs away in a quick burst forwards.

The Enclave wasn't going to get her that easily, not if she could hel-

 ** _THM_**

-But for God's sake, how did they always find the perfect moments and places to just drop in like that? Come on!

Stuttering on her arms and legs, kicking up splashes of water- she screeched to a halt at the front of a drab/copper man.

Wearing a metal suit with a angular helmet, and shoulder-covering pauldrons, an Enclave soldier stood directly in her path, raising a green-tube, pipe-snaked rifle in her angle.

She panicked, threw herself forwards, and swept her claw upwards in a great heaving arc- drawing a connection from the base of the human's armored thighs, all the way up to his breastplate's clavicle below the chin.

Sparks and black tears flew from the ruptured suit- the human inside screamed horribly, dropped his rifle and flung his arms back.

She shoulder-checked the soldier- feeling the breath leave her as the armored suit proved more indomitable than her thick hide could allow her to anticipate.

 ** _CLK_**

The soldier fell on his back, convulsing under all the plating with a little choking noise leaving the amplifiers of his helmet.

Staring at the fallen human- she looked up at the cylinder-shaped hole above the pipe he had descended through- and felt her eyes grow large despite her voluntary motion to squint.

An armored individual, a duplicate of the one she had cut down- looked from above in a darkened space briefly, before vanishing in a pull back from the hole in the floor. Her feet hopped in an itch to sprint once more- and then a second figure stood in the other's place.

He had a rounded helmet with a gas-mask-like appearance to it in design- the armor was blockier, and he wasn't carrying a rifle.

With two hands the soldier hefted a weapon as big as he was into the hole above her- a blue flame tickled a receiver node before a blackened barrel -the entire tunnel way she looked through erupted in fire.

The burning aqua hadn't even reached halfway down to her level and she still felt the washing warmth.

Running for the way she had been going- the tunnel's ribbed sides flew past her vision on both flanks.

A miniature sun bloomed behind her, bulging into the small, crowded girth of the passage.

She looked over her shoulder, feeling a heated draft hit the tip of her tail-

Then she glanced back to watch where she ran- and instantly saw a big block of concrete running right into her. Or, the other way around- it just LOOKED like someone had picked up a brick and was bringing it down on her face.

 ** _CLK!_**

-Like a ragdoll, she face-planted directly into the stone- her titanium-hardened skull actually fracturing the stonework, and not itself- with a casting of pebbles and dust.

She flipped in mid-air, head-over-heels, and sprawled onto her back in a cramped, square chamber.

Feeling dizzy- compressing cold, wet concrete to the scales of her shoulders and hips- her mouth hung open in repeated breathing.

This was bad. If she had thought the situations beforehand were bad- she was being stupid.

THIS, was the bad part.

And it hurt like all that was worthy of the title- 'Bitch'.

Shaking her head, the walloping pain didn't subside, she stood in a shallow, cool gathering of water that formed around a rusty, circle-shaped drainage vent that capped the center of the dipping floor.

Raising an eye to the tunnel she'd flung herself from- she cast her blurry vision to the ceiling, and winced in torment to fractured sunlight from another mesh cover.

She seemed to be finding those a lot lately.

The tunnel she faced made a whooshing sound.

Her eyes readjusted to the bulging blue fire broiling down towards the little square chamber she idled in.

She went to use the most foulest human-curse she had ever learned, and only sputtered out-

"-Blgh-FLNBN!"

-And leapt with all her might for the mesh cover above.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

"Hey check it out- it's the old car factory."

"Wonder if there's more victims, sir?"

"Maybe... We should be heading back home though, don't you think?"

"And END this wondrous day of destruction and debauchery?!"

"Well... Yes. I'm tired, and I stink like a brahman."

"-I'll give ya' that, sir!"

"You don't have a nose, Han'."

"But you gave me an opportunity to insult your person! I HAD to leap on it!"

"Tool."

"Proud of it!"

"Hey... Wait a minute..."

"What? Did you PEE yourself, monkey?"

"Look at the factory."

Hancock's retinal devices followed Sanford's gaze to the blocky building nearby, divided from them by a mere mile or less.

Touched down on the structure's roof- beside a few workstations and radio antennas- was the same Vertibird aircraft that had swept over their heads a few minutes ago.

They didn't even have to track the thing down.

There it was.

Sanford lowered his gun to his hip and drew lines across the drab/copper hull of the plane, mulling.

He hadn't seen a working vehicle in a very long time. It wasn't exactly a culture shock seeing the operational military craft, but it certainly made him stare for a bit with pure intrigue.

Emblazoned on the side was a white symbol- with a big 'E' above a curling iconography.

Sanford connected the dots, stepped forwards, and turned to Hancock silently.

"What?" The robot asked impatiently. "WHAT?! D-Do I have something in my exhaust grille?"

"No you dolt!"

"Hey now, listen here-"

"No YOU listen, Hancock! It's those people we were talking about the other day!"

"Those... People? Are you sure you didn't Jet yourself, sir?"

"NO! No! No-no- Han', that's an Enclave Vertibird!"

"Enclave?"

"ENCLAVE! This is nuts!"

"What are those boot-lickers doing all the way out here?"

"I don't know! I... I don't... I don't know. I don't know if we should, DO anything..." Sanford stumbled on his own tongue, still glaring to the aircraft silently parked atop the old car factory. "I don't know much about the Enclave..."

"Well, I've heard nothing good, sir."

For the first time in their vigilante spree- the two didn't know whether to jump in and stop whatever they were doing, or to just observe.

Honestly, something seemed... WRONG, with either option. Neither could place it.

They never did reach a decision though, because the choice was kind of made for them. In an indirect sort of sense.

 ** _BMMMM_**

Nearby, over the rounded skirt of a dirt hill- pieces of concrete flew away in thin chunks, and an explosion of blue fire mushroomed into the air for several feet.

Sanford grabbed his gun and held it ready, stepping back from the burst of destruction not far off from where they stood. Hancock floated forwards, and quivered with seething anger.

"H-HOW-" The robot stuttered, made an inhaling gasp, and broke out with- "HOW MANY FUCKING PEOPLE ARE GOING TO STEAL MY JOB?!"

Right as Sanford slowly looked to the Mr. Gutsy in pity- a scorched, hole-ridden plate of steel thundered onto the ground with a hollow slamming sensation before them, with cinders dying on its edges and center.

Sanford jumped, and Hancock aimed at the debris, expecting a person to exact his unreasonable need for vengeance on.

"What in God's name...?" Sanford whispered.

"I don't like this... And it takes a lot for me to start sounding suspicious like Han Solo!"

"-You're clinically insane."

"THAT, may be... But I still don't like this!"

"I don't either... Enclave? Vertibirds? And exploding sewer covers? All in a day?"

"Sounds FISHY to me... Ha! Ha-ha! Get it? FISHY? Like water? And... And water and fish...? And-aw, go kill yourself."

Sanford shook his head and started to step towards the scorched vent cover, Hancock hanging back with his Plasma gun aimed.

The pillar of smog from the explosion was still receding in the backdrop, and a empty hiss in the air was developing from a hundred ashes burning out.

Yet, what Sanford didn't physically see until the retinal scanners in his helmet bleeped as existing- was the second object that had been hurled from the explosion. With a red blotch jabbing in the upper corner of his vision- the human stopped short, and gazed around the surrounding hills.

There wasn't anything there! His helmet's scanners were saying something was right in front of him.

"H-Han'! Scans are picking something up!" He called over his shoulder plating.

"Where?"

"In front of me!"

"Hold on, sir, I'll- I'll... Holy crap-smothered ju-ju beans!"

"What the heck does that mean?"

"INCOMING!"

"WHAT?!"

"ABOVE US!"

"-Above-?!" Sanford looked up, and felt himself grow pale. "Jesus-CHRIST!"

"IT'S GOD! HE'S SEEKING RETRIBUTION ON MY FILTHY SOUL-!"

 ** _BMMMCLK-CLK_**

A blackened shape slammed into the discarded vent-cover, rumbling the earth and sending a large burst of sooty smoke into the surrounding area.

Sanford held his arm aloft to cover his helmet's facial area- more debris slacking off his armor in tiny pings and clicks.

Hancock said nothing as he zoomed beside his friend with his gun aimed at the newest fallen object.

A shadowy mound of multiple shapes and angles was spread over the flat, burnt plate. It didn't move, it was still, it looked... Like something dead.

"-I-Is that an... Animal or something?" Sanford asked lowly, training his SMG on it.

"Scans are picking up something organic."

"So are mine, but... It looks... DEAD or something..."

"Maybe it is, sir."

"But then why-?"

The shape grew taller with a blasting hiss of air- like the intake of an elephant gasping for breath, and settled down with a rapid pattern of exhales.

Sanford's mouth was the size of a dot as he watched in shock, and Hancock had even lowered his gun, and NOTHING ever made Hancock lower his guns.

The two scavengers watched the organism without knowledge on what to do.

The soot-coated being shifted, and jerked a few times. It started to gather height, and they could discern limbs- arms and legs, humanoid and hunched in assembly -unfurling from the destroyed vent cover.

Hancock went to speak- probably loudly -before Sanford slapped the back of one of his eye-stalks with his gauntlet to shut him up. The robot didn't even take notice.

The creature was large- a little larger than Sanford's new imposing height and stature. Quivering legs that grew larger, rounded by the thigh and thin, wiry down to the ankles and clawed feet- stood up a hour-glass shape with heavy shoulders, lumbering arms.

The long, reptilian head swung back and forth- a prehensile tongue flicking from between rows of knife-like teeth, a claw with nails longer than his forearm reached up and caressed its temple.

Sanford's eyes went wide, and his helmet- as if on some ungodly cue -displayed the name of the now properly scanned organism.

He would've announced the obvious, but Hancock and his pent-in natural ability to annoy people, beat him to it.

"Oh my, sir..."

"I-It's..."

"DEATHCLAW!"

The monster's head snapped up, and it spiraled on shivering legs to look right at the two of them.

Thin, yellow-colored eyes narrowed, it bore its teeth from curling chops, and it sprinted right in their direction.

Sanford raised his gun to shoot- confidence in his armor's augmentations not even allowing him to start stepping back.

The problem was, a literal second ago, the Deathclaw was several feet away from them in their frontal view.

Now, Sanford wasn't holding his gun anymore- there was a palm larger than his head wrapped over the gauntlet wrist of his suit, and those yellow eyes, weren't so small anymore.

"W-Whoa..." Sanford muttered.

The Deathclaw heaved back, and decked him in the chest with a balled fist, that held enough force to make a rounded indent in his breastplate. Sanford had basically just been hit by a car.

 ** _CRRKK_**

"-AGH!"

The world zoomed in a sailing flight.

Sanford traveled a few feet, and hit the ground.

 ** _PGH_**

-Then with a upkick of smog, he bounced, flew some more- and hit the ground again.

 ** _PGH_**

-And bounced.

 ** _PGH_**

-And bounced AGAIN.

 ** _PGH PGH_**

 ** _SSSSSSSSSSSSK._**

-Oh, and he slid a few inches after the last landing down with his face in the dirt.

Laying there in the stupor, his helm's visor was filled with the grainy view of soil.

"Oooohh... OW..." He croaked. "-Alright-THAT, really-OW, hurt..."

His knees creaked as he struggled to stand.

The joints in his armor were screaming, a warning flare was bleeping in his hearing.

Sanford looked down at the colossal indent in his chest plating, and lulled his head in horror.

"Oh-OW-Come, ON!"

He looked up, and saw the Deathclaw descending to him, from ABOVE.

How far could this freak leap?!

 ** _CLN_**

-Smoke flew in a plumage of impact as Sanford was flattened to the earth- the looming, stronger monster straddling his gut, pinning him, and rearing back with its large, metal-rending claws.

The thing's face was twisted in a snarl, it was soundless, quick, efficient- but even for a member of its own kind.

Sanford watched the display for a moment- reared back with his knees -and planted them into the rear of the Deathclaw's legs.

There was a thud, the creature grunted and flew off from atop him.

Sanford made to stand, got on one foot- and only had enough time to raise his gauntlets as the Deathclaw sprinted back towards him.

"-Oh no-no-no-NO-ACK!"

 ** _CLK_**

Two of the thing's huge claws enwrapped his wrists, and pushed whilst the monster ran directly into him.

The two fighters shoved against their other's effort- joints in his armor screaming, servos groaning. The Deathclaw hissed and growled in effort, heels forming trenches in the dirt, as Sanford's super-human augmentations allotted.

The deadly pushing-war sat at a standstill- Sanford's heart racing as he struggled for his life.

Warnings screamed in his suit's HUD all over the place- his vision filled with the sneering face of the large reptile. He rapidly tried to think of something- ANYTHING, to turn the tide of this stalemate.

In the center of the dusty hills, the combatants could not disengage from each other.

Sanford tested fate, thought about the options and discarded them. He flung his wrists to each side- forced the Deathclaw to surge forwards without balance- and planted his helmet's forehead into its bare skull.

 ** _CLUNK!_**

His entire head rattled- but the physical pain went to the reptile.

"-AH!"

Sanford stumbled forward as the monster reeled back with claws holding its face.

That... Sounded like speech.

Deathclaws couldn't talk, right? He didn't know. Not that the fast-paced fight really allowed for much of knowing anything besides in the moment.

Looking around for his gun, Sanford saw the SMG clattered in a heap not too far from where he had just shoved the monster away.

Bingo.

Watching the hurt mutant- he dove for the gun, stumbling towards it. His fingers wrapped around the side, brought it up to his chest, and aimed it properly.

"HA! Take this you scaly- OH... Oh shit..."

The Deathclaw breathed practical steam in his face- shoved its claw forwards.

 ** _CRRRRRK_**

Sanford's breath left him.

His suit was SCREAMING warnings.

Without comment, he gazed down slowly towards his gut.

The human blinked, and stood with a quivering frown.

"-O-Oh..." Was all he uttered. "-I... I..."

The Deathclaw was still expressionless- as far as its non-human face could be read as such. It stared into the lenses of his helmet with shaky, yellow eyes.

Its claw was there, where he looked, and so were its nails.

But the tips of said nails, were also visible from a view of Sanford's back.

It had run him through.

He was dead.

Sanford's life was literally flashing. He saw memories that he forgot he had. He saw the light. He heard the explosion that terrified him in his dreams.

He saw the glow of nuclear detonation in this beast's reptilian eyes.

The Deathclaw had a frown over its features, and it tugged back with its claw. Sanford expected a final dragging of suffering before the nails that could puncture titanium finished rending through his spine, and it dropped him like a sack of potatoes.

But the funny thing was, if Sanford had the adventure of a lifetime coming up, he couldn't exactly be DEAD, to conclude that adventure before it started, could he?

The Deathclaw had a look of struggling on its face- its brow creased and jaw tightened, it remained in his close proximity, and the claw wasn't moving away from his gut.

-Also, the kicker-

Sanford felt... Perfectly fine.

Feeling the dreariness of his eyes fading, the human's breathing returned- rapidly. The flashing left his retinas. He unintentionally shifted in the suit. And felt nothing.

Sanford looked at the Deathclaw.

The Deathclaw looked down at its claw, and then it looked at him.

The stinking creature flared it jaws, and tried to tear away its wrist.

But all it did was jerk him a step closer.

It growled, and tried again.

This time, it stumbled, and Sanford followed.

Sanford wriggled his hips- and felt two resistances on either side of his pelvis, that previously- had not been there.

The nails... Missed him.

The Deathclaw had missed him.

He was alive.

Sanford grinned wickedly, and snickered profusely as the creature shoved a palm onto his breastplate, and started forcing it in a push whilst pulling its stuck fingers.

It grunted and snarled with effort, stopped, and stared to Sanford's visor as his chuckling developed into a brief cackle.

He snorted, breathed and shook his head.

"-A-AH-yeah..." He laughed. "-This could only happen t-too ME, Mr. Deathclaw..."

The thing squinted at him, head-reclining, almost like it was gazing to a crazy person.

"H-How ya' doing?" Sanford concluded without care.

The Deathclaw splayed its fangs- reared back, and screamed with all its might.

"GET-!"

 ** _PLM_**

-Sanford was swung right, and planted back-first to the ground with the reptile atop him.

"-OFF-!"

 ** _PLM_**

-He and it flung another few inches in the same position.

"-OF-!"

 ** _PLM_**

"-ME-!"

 ** _PLM_**

"NOW!"

 ** _PLM_**

 ** _PLM_**

 ** _PLM_**

 ** _PLM_**

Minutes passed of the creature hurling the two of them about in a frantic panic.

Sanford just hunkered down in the armor with wide eyes, bunched his arms and legs, and basically sat it out with no choice.

His world rattled and swung. The Deathclaw gave up after a bit.

Drenched in sweat, colored black from the explosion it had emerged from- the humanoid reptile was lain atop the suit of X-01 with a heave in its repeated breaths.

It looked down at Sanford, over both its shoulders, and the back.

Blinking, the Deathclaw made a moan, and slumped forwards with a final clanking of metal.

"J'ai fini..." It muttered, pressing its horned-head into its un-trapped forearm.

Sanford- still woven with shellshock -felt his eyes bug out of his head as the thing spoke.

On his back with the monster seemingly sulking over his chestplate, the human laid there without knowledge of what to do.

The creature breathed slowly, and with dragging efforts.

Sanford looked back and forth with eyes- head frozen, ALL of him frozen, in fear of moving.

His dry throat flared when he opened his mouth- so he swallowed, and tried again to... Well, say something.

"U-U-Uhm..." He wasn't any louder than the breaths of air leaving the thing on top of him.

Everything except a slight breeze was silent in the middle of the rolling, dirt terrain surrounding them.

Sanford glanced more with his eyes- unable to see where Hancock was. He moved an arm in a slight jerk, froze, and relented still when the creature on him didn't move.

"-Uhm... M-Mr. uh... Mr. D-Deathclaw?" He tried. "-D-Does this mean... T-That uhm... We're not... Trying to kill each other... anymore?"

The Deathclaw slowly, sluggishly- raised its head from where it had buried it in its arm.

With narrowed eyes, the monster snorted at him.

"Call me hommasse' again, and I'll chew your neck open."

Sanford stared at the thing in wonder.

"-Y-You speak?"

"Of course I freaking speak. Does THIS sound like unintelligent growling to you?" It snapped through lip-flexing chops perfectly.

Sanford's head was spinning.

He had to be dead.

Deathclaws were animals. They didn't know how to speak. They were intelligent, but not THAT intelligent.

"-W-What... ARE you?"

"What do I look like?"

He hesitated to answer that.

"A... Deathclaw?"

"How obvious..."

"But what ARE you?"

"You're not too bright are you?"

"Deathclaws don't talk." -Yet he astoundingly was able to converse back and forth with the thing after only a few minutes.

Go figure.

The reptile stared long and hard, and eventually, amounted to only a small shrug as response.

The human was at a loss.

He was pretty done for today. The craziest day of his life, that was.

"...Why were you in an... Uh... An explosion?" Sanford asked.

The Deathclaw kept its mouth shut, and jabbed a raised nail at the automobile factory to their side over the hills.

"Ask THEM." It snapped.

"-T-The Enclave?"

"Mm."

"-This is absolutely... BATSHIT. I don't... Ha-ha, I'm going insane..."

"That's lovely. But before you die of insanity, at least release me from this prison, ape."

"Release you? Oh. Oh no, buddy, I need YOU to take YOUR claw, out of my gut."

"I don't understand how you're still alive."

"You missed."

"What?"

"You missed ME. You ran through the armor. Not ME."

The Deathclaw squinted, paused, and looked down at where its claw was still lodged.

It came back up after a second with a cluck in its tone.

"Oh, my pride." It said sarcastically. "I can't even kill a human."

"W-Well... I'm thankful for that, actually..."

"Do me a favor and be quiet. The Enclave should kill both of us sooner or later, and I'd rather not die having a screaming match with some monkey..."

"My friend calls me that too..."

"'Friend'?"

"Yeah. Ugly, grease-covered, flying tin-can. You seen him?"

" _SUCK MY SPROCKET, YOU SCUMBAG APE!_ "

"Han'?!"

The Deathclaw raised its head and looked about.

"'Han'?" It asked. "What is a 'Han'?"

"Hancock! Where are you?!"

"Are you talking about that machine?"

"A robot?"

"Yes."

"Yeah! W-What'd you do to him?"

" _THAT OVERSIZED NEWT THREW ME LIKE A PIECE OF SCRAP!_ "

Sanford inched up a bit- despite the monster being atop him -and watched with raised brows a central propulsion rocket, and three robotic arms, jutting from a tear in the dirt, that obscured all of Hancock's chassis.

The robot spoke with a muffled ring.

" _SOMEBODY GET A FRIGGIN' ROPE! MAN-DOWN! MAN-DOWN! MEDIC! MEDIVAC! SOMETHING!_ "

The Deathclaw blinked at these shouts, and looked back down at the armored human.

"THAT, is a 'Hancock'?"

" _-'THE'-HANCOCK! FUCKERS!_ " The robot muffled.

"What he said..." Sanford sighed, feeling his heart rate gradually lowering- but still flaring as the awesome creature was in such proximity to him.

The Deathclaw had a hide of leathery scales that covered it from head-to-toe. It was slender, acrobatic-looking, albeit. It stunk poorly, and it was blackened with soot. But overall... The thing looked mean in general.

The curving horns on its head were matted with burnt residue too- it bowed them as it looked down at the impalement its claws still made in his armor.

"-Who are you?" The Deathclaw asked in a growl.

"Sanford. You?"

"'Don't have a name."

"Why?"

"Never needed one."

"...Oh..."

" _HEY! A FELLOW SOCIAL-REJECT! HOW'DYA DO?!_ "

"It looks like we're all... Stuck, huh?" Sanford asked.

The Deathclaw watched without response, and Hancock rumbled under the dirt.

" _THIS IS WORSE THAN A PAIR OF HANDCUFFS! AND I DON'T EVEN HAVE HANDS!_ "

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10.**

 **They Glued It.**

* * *

There had been some pretty rough folk they had encountered over the years.

There were people who had been drunk or drugged out of their minds, people who were so mentally unstable that if you spoke to them funny they'd try to hurt you, people who didn't speak at all, and people who never shut up.

The wasteland forced even opposites to be around each other, it was needed for continued survival.

Ethnicity, prior nationality, gender no longer gave a sizable opinion in the view of yourself- all that mattered was what you did, how you did it, and how good you were at it.

People who were weak got nowhere, or they died, or sometimes also they sprung up from the ashes of their old lives to become the brightest of the bright.

People who were strong excelled here-and-now, they prospered, or they self-imploded and caused nothing but their overall destruction.

It wasn't just guns, or armor, or resources that made anybody stronger than the other. It was thinking power, passion, and determination. Sure, the fancy toys helped with that greatly, but giving a large weapon to someone who was dead from the neck-up would not solve a single battle, understand.

So all of those judgments of character that Sanford and Hancock had learned to deduce properly to other people, to other humans, ghouls, or even robots- had not a finger to be held, when they tried to understand this... Creature.

This Deathclaw. A monster.

Honestly, neither of them knew what to do, what to say, or how to go about the whole thing in general.

At one point- because, there was a series of scenes that lead up to this -the Deathclaw had uncurled itself from Sanford's armor, reached over, and practically yanked Hancock from the mound of soil with a single tug.

Shaking the bucket of bolts in the air- it snarled and declared the two of them were going to 'Help it.' -Whatever that meant.

Sanford didn't know what to say, and Hancock only made the confusion more dominant when he swept at the creature with his buzz-saw- screaming obscenities about former president Bill Gate's wristwatch.

Now, a half-mile away from their fight- Sanford struggled to keep his steps in line with that of the large reptilian creature's- her arm extended before him as she trudged across the dirt, fingers imbedded in the hip/stomach divisional space of his pierced suit.

Her arm was overextended in a obviously uncomfortable twist around her right ribs, and every now and again she tried another tug that almost forced the human onto his face.

Hancock recommended through the communications bead on his helmet- that they kill the creature and saw its arm off to release him.

Sanford thought initially, that the idea sounded decent.

But then he remembered how quick the thing had been, and how he hadn't even had an opportunity to shoot it.

Thinking better- seeing as a single round couldn't put it down -he declined, and instead started asking the DEATHCLAW- the supposed animal -what it wanted.

"-H-Hey, M-Mr. Deathclaw?" Sanford asked, speech broken as it tugged him along.

As he spoke, hollow brushing sounds of metal etched by his legs- he glanced over his suit's collar to see the Deathclaw's long tail swiping accidently over his ankle plates.

The thing's hunched, huge-looking back was to him- he watched Hancock float up beside him for a moment, and tried again.

"Yo, Deathclaw!"

It snorted once.

Then nothing.

Rolling his eyes, Sanford looked over at the Mr. Gutsy.

"Thing's ignoring me now..."

"HEY! Puff The Magic Ass-bag!" Hancock shouted, earning a 'No-no!' mouthing from a frantic Sanford. "-We're trying to talk to ya'!"

"Be quiet." The creature grumbled over its shoulder- if they hadn't been listening, its speech would have been easily mistakable as yet another growl or hiss.

Sanford looked down at the clawed hand still lodged around his gut, and craned to fail in viewing his back.

"How bad is it?" He asked Hancock.

"-Ran RIGHT through, sir!" The robot proclaimed behind him. "At least all our finds are intact!"

"That's amazing."

"Indeed! Though, maybe if Veloci-reek over here didn't try to maul us, we wouldn't be HAVING this discussion right now! Yeah! YOU!" The robot flew over and jabbed the thing's arm with the unmoving blade of his saw. "-I'm talkin' to you, croc-crap!"

"Shove off."

 ** _PGH_**

Sanford caught a laugh in his throat when the Deathclaw swatted out with its free claw- and sent the robot sprawling onto the dusty ground with a series of clanks.

"-AK! MAN-DOWN! ...Again..." Hancock righted himself with a blasting central thruster- glared as Sanford averted his amused gaze, and zoomed back over to the Deathclaw's flank.

"SAY HELLO TO CLARICE, BITCH!"

"WHOA-WHOA-WHOA! HOLD ON, HAN'!"

Sanford jerked the Deathclaw still from its aimless-seeming walk- flailed his left arm, and smacked the muzzle of Hancock's missile launcher down before he could raise it any further.

Baring its teeth, the reptile stopped moving forwards, spun around, and unsheathed the nails on its free fingers to brandish at both of them.

"I'm not exactly fond of this setup MYSELF, monsieur'." She snapped to Sanford. "Tell your flying typewriter to back off."

The cold paranoia lasted for not nearly as long as she, nor her robotic enemy- could have predicted.

Sanford looked at her, then at Hancock, and burst out laughing beneath his helmet.

Keeling over, and taking the Deathclaw's arm a bit with him- she stood there with a raised brow, taking a step away with her closest foot. Even Hancock had all eye-lenses on him.

"-H-HA! Hoy crap! Han'! He's right, ya' know!"

The robot's thruster flared, and he started swinging his arms as he belted out.

"LISTEN HERE, IGUANA! I'LL TURN YOU INTO A NEW PAIR OF SNAKESKIN BOOTS! AND I'LL SELL YOU TO A HOBO FOR FIVE-FRICKEN'-BUCKS! YOU HEAR ME?!"

His physical attempt to fly up in the thing's face was thwarted when Sanford grabbed his buzz-saw arm- still hysterical over how he wasn't the only one to mock the Mr. Gusty in such a manner.

Hancock started screaming at him too, and poor Mr. Tobs was too giggly to even notice.

Watching the loud, vocal-chord jabbing exchange go to and fro- the Deathclaw shakily exhaled, and slowly enveloped her facial features under the wrapping fingers of her free claw.

Having her arm move with every motion the stupid human made- she sulked, and tried to wait patiently for it all to stop, for some peace.

The problem was, that peace never came.

"-YOUR MOTHER WAS A HAMPSTER!"

"-And you're still an airborne jerry-can!"

"EAT ME!"

"Need some anti-freeze for your cold, black soul? A-HA! HA!"

"Can both of you... Please... Just stop-?" She tried, and felt her voice fade as the bickering only got louder.

Through a slight hiss of hundreds of dead limbs- the grayed trees that dotted in thin clumps around the dusty strip of concrete they stood on, whistled in the constant light wind that always kicked up the endless swathes of dust turning everything tan.

Guard rails extended in torn, uneven extensions down the road's sides. As per normal environment- rusted vehicles were gridded everywhere. At least that was some distracting thought for her- it had been 200 years, and the world was still kind of frozen from where it left off.

Creepy.

Feeling a sting of pain as she chewed into the finger of her claw- she whirled around as the ridiculous, non-sense screaming match reached a crescendo.

"Can both of you, please- SHUT UP." She barked.

Sanford stood still, his comedic bawling at an end, and the robot was raising its missile launcher attachment again- before the human swatted it down with his gauntlet- AGAIN.

"Oops." Sanford shrugged with his pauldrons.

"This is the kind of crap I always end up in," The Deathclaw kept speaking- each word giving a leap of amazement- and nervousness -within his body. "-You humans do nothing but cause destruction."

"I'll... You know what, I won't challenge that..." Sanford reasoned. "-But not on an individual level all the time. Not ALL humans are evil..."

"Well I'm believing that less and less every day, monsieur'."

"Hey, I know that-"

Sanford was cut off when Hancock belted out once more.

"This thing's an oversized gecko that speaks FRENCH?! What the jublees, man?!"

"'Jublees'?" Sanford grinned.

"Whatever! What's with the Paris-fever, freak?!" He was yelling at the Deathclaw for a third instance.

"Calm down tin-man, he probably doesn't even know what 'Paris' is..."

The Deathclaw suddenly got a very angry sneer on its face again- it shook its stuck wrist back and forth- rattling the human around in his armor with a few 'Oof!'s of struggle.

"Hey!" Sanford snapped. "Knock that off!"

"I told you to stop calling me what I'm NOT."

"...Which is?"

"Male."

"Oh, well- Oh... OH. You're a... MRS.?"

"...I suppose I shouldn't even be sensitive about it." The Deathclaw huffed. "It's not like that's ever mattered before."

"What? No boyfriend before?"

"Merde mangeur!" She knocked him around inside the suit again with a few push-shoves of her arm.

"-OW-! Ow!-W-What I do?!"

"Keep digging, monsieur'. PLEASE." She frowned. "At least then I can just cut you open and LEAVE."

"Alright tough-gu-I mean- GIRL... Why not just kill both of us and be over with it? Huh?"

Sanford tested a whole lot of bad mojo with that question. But he was at a point where the answer might not have been good or bad either way in his life.

The Deathclaw had a conflicted scrunch in its features- it leaned closer to him and bore its sharp, pure-white fangs in his helm's lenses.

"I don't kill those who aren't trying to kill BACK." She grumbled. "My own morality is my weakness. Deal with it."

"-But you wouldn't be willing to kill a loudmouth?"

"You're really brave. Or stupid."

"I know. It's gotten us places."

"...I'm refraining."

"Alright, Ms.'I'll Refrain'- what's your plan for getting your hand out of my gut, huh?"

"There's a mill plant a few miles from here. I found lubricant there once. Put it on my fingers, and they'll probably slide right out."

"And if they don't?"

"I said it was a mill. I could cut them off."

Hancock flew over after she said that, and looked at the two of them with a hint of apprehension.

Sanford cocked his head awkwardly.

"You'd cut your fingers... Off?"

"Not my fingers, you bete'. My nails."

"Don't you need those?"

The Deathclaw repeated her pattern of wrist movement from before.

"-Oo!-OW! A-Alright! Geez, stop that! It's annoying."

"I'm not degrading myself to killing someone who is helping me."

"How do you reason that?"

"You're not resisting, are you?"

"No?"

"You're not trying to stop me in any way shape or form are you?"

"No."

"Both of you have weapons, yet you haven't drawn them-" She frowned at Hancock. "-and FIRED them, correct?"

"Well... Yeah..."

"Don't count on that for long, you birth-defect!" Hancock butted in.

Sanford's head slowly angled in the Mr. Gutsy's direction, his eyes narrowed with an expression screaming forth his inability to process the robot's mentally unreasonable personality.

The Deathclaw- having darted glares between the two of them a few more instances -swung around to start down the road again, earning a grunt from Sanford as he stumbled forwards with the reptile's arm tugging him along.

"-H-HEY! WHOA, HOLD ON!"

"Now there's ANOTHER problem, hmm, monsieur'?" The creature grumbled.

"-Could you- just like, WAIT a second-?" Sanford reached up with his gauntlet and clenched it over the Deathclaw's thumb area to stand himself up a bit.

If she was agitated beforehand on the simplistic nature of these... FREAKS, than now, her combat-bugged, insult addled, stress wracked mind could not hope to process any further interruptions.

She wanted to get away from the two morons as fast as possible.

"NO." She snapped. "Move."

Sanford was muttering curses the whole time he stumbled with heavy creaks of servo joints, clomps of thundering metal heels.

Hancock floated after them, and he was getting on about the entire situation overall.

"Now we're LISTENING to it?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!"

"Would you prefer to settle it in close range?" Sanford barked back. "-Cause' 'PRINCESS' here seems awfully good at slicing-n-dicing!"

"Possibly." The Deathclaw chimed without much attention given.

"Say- Hancock never got an answer before... Where'd all that French come from?" Sanford found his speech easier to maintain once he got a better pattern with his forced steps.

Gazing at her broad back- Sanford waited for a response, and eventually got none.

"What? Are you FROM France, huh?" He joked. "Because that place is a giant crater from what I've heard."

"Cul stupide'..."

"What was that? C'mon, I didn't HEAR you?"

"Do you think you're humorous?" She said over her shoulder, feet raising to pass over a fallen, shriveled tree limb sprawled across the path.

"Very much so." Sanford replied smugly, his boot snapping the limb in two with a quick stomp.

 ** _CRAK_**

He nudged through the debris and kept pace.

"Seeing as me and Han' are stuck with you, it might help if we broke some ice, no?"

The Deathclaw stopped walking- AGAIN -because apparently there was a lot of things that shocked her about him. She had an expression of utter confusion wrapped over her face, and she shook her head in a, perhaps, overly-dramatic mockery of what he just said.

"What are you talking about?" She asked. "Are you stupid? Wait- I asked that already..."

"Found an answer yet, tootse?" Hancock laughed.

"Ice? You mean, uncertainty in sociality?" The Deathclaw didn't even look at the robot, and kept going. "There IS no sociality. Just a mutual want to be away from the other."

"Well, YEAH, but..."

"BUT? Monsieur'?"

"BUT... I mean, I dunno', Han' can speak for me on this one. I don't get out much, Deathclaw. This is some new conversation for me, even if, you know..."

"-It's with a giant 'Lizard'?" She finished for him.

"Uhhh... Yep."

"Mm."

She turned back around, yanked her wrist, and the stumbling human was brought behind her again. It was like she had a leash on him.

"That was anticlimactic." Sanford commented.

"It was supposed to be."

"You know... Up until today, I hadn't ever touched a live Deathclaw."

"How exhilarating..." She said sarcastically.

"And Han' and I haven't had someone travelling with us in... Uhm... Yo, Han', how long?"

"I dunno', sir! Give or take a few years? One or two? There was that druggie... Uhm... Bill? Bob? Hankerton?"

"Who Mills?"

"Yeah! Mills!"

"We didn't know he was hopped up on shit until he came back with a mess of Raiders chasing him." Sanford said to the Deathclaw. "'Boy was stealing stuff from their narcotics stash."

"Sounds amazing..." She sighed.

"The fight sure was. Took hours. Whatever happened to Mill's anyway, Han'?"

"Oh? Him? Clarice immolated him with her sheer godliness!"

"You blew him up? I thought you shot him."

"I did!"

"...So... Hold on,"

"Clarice was the janitorial cleanup, of course! Keep up, sir!"

"That's my Han' alright."

"U.S.A!"

Failing to find reason in her head, the Deathclaw understood the full depth of this agonizing hell-train she had boarded.

This was grueling.

She should've let the Enclave kill her.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Throughout several sections of the former New England, the coastline definition of borders between mainland, shallows and sea- had shifted astronomically.

Most of the beaches towards the east were larger than they were before the nukes- some strange aura that had caused most tidal-levels to actually retract across the globe, from what intellectual travelers had described.

And interestingly, as the coasts gained sand, there were finger-lake like bogs that formed more inland due to rising water levels that wormed around the beaches.

In combination with the blasted plant variety, the mass extinctions, and mutated ecosystems- it was safe to assume that humans had screwed Earth ten or so times over, and then some.

Frighteningly, Sanford had learned that Boston was actually considered less scathed than other parts of the globe.

Europe and most of Asia were crater fields- everyone accepted that as common lore -oceans were diseased and barren, and devoid of most multi-celled life, except for wives' tales about mutated monstrosities that lurked deep beneath the waves (A whole bunch of crap if you asked him).

Most of the east coast directly below New England was a blasted heap of irradiated, churned soil and debris, and pretty much once you ringed around the lifeless badlands that bordered the holes in the ground that were once New York City and Philadelphia, you were at D.C.

-And everything underneath D.C as well, was ALSO a lifeless crag in the Earth.

The world, particularly the scarred remnants of North America- had been turned into a twisted parody of what he, and say, many of the Ghouls as old as he -understood as life before the bombs.

Pretty much all of New York state, and Pennsylvania were endless expanses of dead forests, hills, and dotted remnants of civilization- it was rumored the only things that lived there were roaming Yao Guia, mutated hounds, and giant bugs.

People had gathered in and around Pittsburg- but the place was exactly what it sounded like. A big, honkin', smelly-ass Pitt. It was slavers that ran that town, and unless Sanford was going there to blow their heads off, he'd steer clear if given the choice.

Ironically, Mr. Tobs didn't have much choice in where he walked today, it seemed.

Without much noise, the fabled creature of people's nightmares kept dragging him along- dismissive, and simply agitated to the presence of the dead-weight she toted against her will.

Mutually, they both got that NEITHER of them, wanted to be around the other.

Not to say that Sanford wasn't curious and intrigued as much as anxious and angry.

An intelligent Deathclaw? There were people in the wastes- real, REAL social outcasts -that spent their entire lives combing the world, and failing, to find colonies of reptilian beasts that shrugged away into the darkest recesses of the new world to be forgotten and left alone.

This one before him, had most likely hailed from such a place.

It irked him- the reptile knew his name, knew his robot's name, and knew both of them were scavengers... But Sanford and Hancock knew very little on her, in turn.

-Besides, he just couldn't wrap his head around all the French speech.

Who the hell had ever heard of a French Deathclaw?

"Hey, Ms. Deathclaw," He addressed the creature with sudden speech. "I have a question you still haven't answered."

"I told you we aren't 'Buddies', ape." She replied dimly. "Stop speaking to me. Please. Walk faster."

She tugged her wrist forwards for good measure- making the human stumble mid-stride.

"-AGH! -Damn it-!" Sanford hit his forehead on the internal rim of his own helmet. "-Quit rattling me around like that!"

"Then shut up and move."

"Listen HERE, newt-sucker-!" Hancock's attempt at defending his pal was cut off when Sanford shouted for him.

"-Alright, hold the phone scale-mail." Sanford grunted.

"-Oo! Good one, sir!" Hancock said.

"If we're both stuck in this mess, we both have to cooperate on even terms, no?"

The Deathclaw turned around- reached over with its free claw- and plastered it in a metallic crack over the collar of Sanford's breastplate.

With a grunt of effort, and a moan of metal, she lifted him clear off his feet- bringing both her forearms down, and leaned his helmet close to her face, his ankles dangling.

Sanford reached up to grip her free hand- holding up another to Hancock when he trained his missile-launcher.

"There is no such THING, as EVEN terms." The Deathclaw grumbled. "I've been running for months. Non-stop. I mistook you for an Enclave soldier. Now I'm stuck with you. And I plan on dumping you at the nearest road, just as quick as I have blundered our lives into each other. Understand, monsieur'?"

"You're a very blunt thing, aren't you?"

"I don't appreciate being social."

"Why's that?"

"You humans always find a way to turn 'Talking' into a shit-flinging competition, and I'll have none of it."

"So... What, I'm gonna' JUDGE you? I'm gonna' disagree with your story? If there is one?"

"It's not about judgment or opinions or how either party feels, monsieur'- it is the fabric of why my kind was never meant to interact with your kind outside of a hostile situation."

"...Look, it hasn't gotten hostile once we got past the scuffle before..."

"Here's what I'll relent. You're good under pressure, ape. Most of your species would be trying to run in a panic, or would be firing all manner of guns at me. Probably both."

"They weren't introduced to you in the manner we were..."

"Doesn't matter."

"I think it does."

"I don't CARE. It's my choice. This isn't a 'Get Together', you primate. This is an unfortunate web we've both been stuck in. Seeing as you have no better idea than to mope, dwell, and chat away whilst picking your anal cavity, I'M taking action to cut the web away. DEAL WITH IT."

"When was the last time you had a full-blown conversation with someone?"

"...Is your attention span that feeble?"

"No. But seeing as, ya' know, you don't want to talk... At least answer me THAT question."

"Never."

"Pfft. That's a lie..." Sanford scoffed with a sing-song tone. "-Any other's of your 'Kind'?"

"This conversation is over."

"Uhh... Meh. Maybe. Can you put me down now?"

The Deathclaw blinked in surprise at remembering WHY the human was so close in her face- rolled her shoulders from an ache, and lowered her arms to let his heels snap back to the ground with twin metal thwacks.

Staring down at him, she took away her free palm, and went to start moving once more.

"-Nope, wait, wait... Hold on." Sanford's gauntlets slid over the wrist jutting from his gut, and he planted his feet into the dirt with a brief sliding of pebbles.

"Never before have I been so ANGRY, with such simple, and annoying habits, monsieur'!" She barked at him, swatting at his grip with her fingers like she would a fly.

As if on cue, a black-colored, bulbous shape flittered over a nearby hill, and made a horrible-sounding squelch that echoed across the clearing.

Eyes locking to the movement- Sanford creased his lipline in knowing -reached up with one of his arms, and held it before the Deathclaw's waist where a wet, green-colored shape of repugnant origin slapped off the metal of his armor with a hollow thrum.

The reptile watched as he brushed off the largest smashed maggot she'd ever seen- with his other hand, and clenched her teeth when Hancock fired a single green shot from his Plasma gun.

The bloatfly erupted in a small geyser of offal and slime, splattering the ground underneath its hover.

"-Anyway, you were saying?" Sanford sighed.

Glancing at both of them, the Deathclaw blinked with a tight clench in her eyes.

"J'ai mal a' la tete'..."

"What?"

"I have a headache." She groaned.

"Sorry."

"Me too."

"So listen, Ms. Deathclaw, I don't know what's happened to you besides the obvious alienation from human civilization- or, what's left of it... -BUT, the only other person I've had conversations with in the last few years is that flying bucket-"

-" _KILL YOURSELF!"-_

"-And he's more crazy than I am. Now, what about you? Any flying buckets of your own?"

The Deathclaw shifted in her stand.

"You are utterly relentless."

"I'm good at reading... 'People'? I guess."

"I'm not a person."

"Why... Not?"

"Do I have pink, scrawny, thin skin? Am I a mere 5-feet tall?"

"No. But you have the power of reason, yes?"

"Mm."

"-I guess you could say I'm a supporter of the old 'Aliens are people too!'-argument. Ha."

"I don't know what that is."

"Ah, nevermind."

"I had a pack."

"A pack?"

"I HAD a pack."

"Oh... Well, I'm sorry."

"I'm done talking."

Sanford struggled after her- makeshift tow-cable wrist dragging him along.

Hancock lacked comment the whole time, and flew after them.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11.**

 **I Threw it, it Boomeranged, and it Bit Me in the Ass.**

* * *

The mutated scavenger birds that harried the air and general noise vicinity of the Commonwealth, were cawing, screeching, and yelping as their travels started to take them farther and farther from the mainland.

It bugged him a lot- they were trapped with a sentient monster, and it was leading them somewhere that they did not know all that well.

The shorelines of New England were a grim place- not say as grim as the actual city of Boston itself -but the whole area, or, the multiple zones that ran in a strip down the eastern fringes of the land -were becoming more and more like swamps as the years rolled on.

There were some people that said the world was slowly, unsteadily, but gradually recollecting itself after the nuclear conflict 200 years ago, and the fact of the matter was that that assumption was completely false.

If anything, Earth was degrading. Even further.

People normally found better spots of civilization further mainland than they did by the oceans. Earth's seas had become more irradiated than the very soil of the crust not directly impacted by a warhead, marine life was few and far between, and it was utterly ferocious, vicious.

Like he had scoffed within his mental scans before- Sanford's belief of gigantic monstrosities was limited, at best -but he could not deny that things like Mirelurks, or the predatory Razorphins that swam outside the shallows, were a big problem.

The Mirelurks especially- they reproduced out of control, they had shelled bodies that made them near impervious to physical trauma or the piercing qualities of projectile ammunition, and for their size, they were pretty fast.

The unbelievable heights of aggressiveness didn't make the whole conglomerate of crazy shit that WERE the Mirelurks incarnate, any better for the unfortunate souls to run into them.

Finding his boots sliding through the mud that branched off in brown vines from the buried, moist pavement of the coastal roads still intact- Sanford was holding his gun, the SMG, one-handed, gazing around at both sides the party.

Hancock didn't like the situation either, and he had better reason for such besides physical sights.

"Sir, just to let you and the iguana know, my motion sensors are screaming. Screaming I tell you!"

"Let me guess..." Sanford trailed off.

"-They are indeed, BENEATH the water around us, sir."

"Not cool."

The Deathclaw didn't give much attention to what they were saying- but she did keep keen when the robot said what he did about the scans of the water.

All around them, the several lanes of the road gave way for muddy, or water-filled indents and landslides. Old warehouses, factories, and skeletons of beachline structures ribbed and lay strewn like hundreds of chess pieces on a board of clay that had melted, and warped.

Boats and small sloops jutted out from the shallowest edges of the ocean, and from the wet wastes of sand that bordered the continent from the waves.

They walked mostly without noise, or even glances to the other- she hadn't said a word the entire time since their last 'Discussion' -if you could call it that.

The stupid little chimp had actually made her uncomfortable. Not easy to do.

He was right, in a sense- she found it scary that he could read the whole situation and say it for what it was.

She was a loner, she made that pretty clear- and yes, the last time she had conversed with another sentient being was when her pack had been wiped out by the Enclave years ago... So, with as much of a shadowy sludge of anathema it hit her with- she could admit the isolation was awful.

Years and years ago, mind you- if this 'Sanford' had come across her during her younger life, the role of annoyer, and the one annoyed and unwilling -probably would have been evened in scale, if not completely reversed.

In her earlier life, all she did was ask questions to herself, because not even the other intelligent specimens of her species, had mastered the level of communication, or understanding of the world around them, as SHE had.

And that was because she was closer to humankind than even she understood.

There was a reason that a national tint to her very speech, and to the way she spoke, existed in her dialect.

Sanford had wanted to know.

But she didn't LIKE Sanford.

He was annoying. Like she had beaten to a pulp in reasoning this whole time.

He was nosy. And, most of all, forget all the other offenses- he was a God-damned human. A HUMAN. Humans pissed her off.

Yet with all that animosity towards him for being HIM, and for what he was- she realized she was taking out years of pent-up frustration on someone who had been willing to just talk with her.

After all, she complained every night before she at least TRIED to sleep -that she had shrugged off the attentions of the only other 'Person' in her life that had been willing to know her.

That opportunity- at least, it seemed as so -had reared back, and she was repeating the same thing she had done in her youth.

Ironically, the Enclave was intervening again too.

Sanford- for the few hours she had known him -seemed friendly enough, he seemed civil. Maybe a few words wouldn't be such a hassle. Maybe. She'd think about it.

-But forget that robot, that 'Hancock' thing. He was a sleezebag. He was loud and obnoxious. Fuck him.

Testing the air with her flecking tongue- she grew anxious at the myriad of scents of crustaceans she picked up.

These weren't normal crustaceans of course, thus, the nervousness.

"Your machine is right, human." She spoke out of the blue. "There are several of these creatures about."

Sanford raised his head in alarm at the alien speech coming from the massive being next to him- and looked back at Hancock.

"Huh. She speaks."

"There has to be a muzzle lying around this pile'o trash somewhere..."

"Why not check by the water's fringe, hm?" She asked venomously. "Be sure to lean forwards HEAVILY to see beneath the waves."

"You know what?!" Hancock cried. "-Here's a wad of dirt! EAT IT!"

As if to make a point- she sighed when a small crumbling weight slacked off her rear-shoulder and silted down her back before vanishing from her senses.

"What is your name again?" She asked.

"HA! Like I'd tell you, COMMIE'!"

"Be quiet. I'm talking to YOU." She shoved her wrist a bit to shift Sanford in his walk. "Name again. Please."

"Sanford, Ms. Anger-problem. Name's Sanford."

"Mm. 'Sanford', where do you come from?"

"I thought this wasn't a 'Get-Together', Deathclaw."

"It isn't."

"Then why should I answer you?"

"-You were complaining before about the lack of communication, monsieur'... Now you say no?"

"Well... I suppose if this is the ONLY way I'll break the ice with a giant reptilian creature."

She snorted.

"-I was born 200 years ago when the bombs dropped."

"Very funny. Now where do you come from?"

"...I, uhm... I just said, scale-mail."

"Fine. Then I'm done talking-"

"-I'm not joking, or making nonsense of your question," Sanford snapped. "-I was born 200 years ago, me and my family lived in a small housing development towards the north, I snuck them into a Vault when the bombs hit."

"He's telling the truth shit-zilla." Hancock confirmed. "I thought it was hogwash too! But, ya' know, the old stereotypical epic-tale of the hero's origin…. Not apparent until it's in yer' face! Hoo-rah!"

"'Hero'?" Sanford scoffed. "No."

Hancock's eye-like stalks all made a rolling motion, coupled with a static-garbled sigh.

Not noticing that particular part of the discussion- the Deathclaw had a bewildered edge in her expression- she opened her elongated chops, and stuttered on the next word.

"-Ahem," She cleared her throat. "How is that possible? A 'Vault'?"

"Deathclaw, if you weren't looking to talk beforehand, having me explain that whole thing will blast it out the airlock times ten, I warn you."

"How are you two-hundred years old?" She asked.

As if unable to process her prior wants- the reptile basically repeated the question.

"I guess that means I'm explaining it…?" Sanford looked at Hancock, who made a shrugging motion with all three arms. Adjusting with a shift of his hips around her imbedded fingers- he found it strange the reptile watching him closely, waiting.

"… I was born in the year 2059, I lived a life completely different from this- I snuck my family into Vault 111 when the bombs started to fall, the staff put us into containment pods, they were cryo-pods specifically- they put us in stasis for the next two-hundred years... I woke up a few years ago to a Vault empty of people, filled with Radroaches.

All the people that had worked there, the soldiers that had gotten in beside the actual residents, and the others I had come in with, were all skeletons lying on a dusty floor... I never found my family though, their pods were empty... My mother and father, the late makers of my life, huh?"

Sanford had told that story a few times, not to many people, but to a fair amount that had asked in the past. It was terrible, in his life 200 years ago, he couldn't imagine wallowing in a hell-hole like this world, and now, he couldn't imagine NOT wallowing in it today.

The story was very personal to him- he didn't tell anyone he did not trust, so Hancock, and maybe two or three other chance encounters in his time here, had earned him a retelling of the tale to a pair of willing ears.

Sanford never expected he'd be pouring out his life story to a Deathclaw, however. That was just ludicrous.

On such note- the reptile was still looking at him in a daze, it was all a blurry conception to grasp for her.

"I've only heard of one or two other humans that have survived in that way, and, they... They... Quel' est le mot...- Their skin falls off."

"Ghouls?" Sanford asked. "Yeah. They've been mutated. I'm pretty sure I haven't been MUTATED, or nothing..."

"-You don't need to be! You've already been maliciously ousted by nature in the looks' department, sir!" Hancock laughed.

Sanford grumbled some horrible comment as only heed to the jest- kicking at a stone by his boot as the Deathclaw processed it all.

A Vault? That sounded so familiar to her.

It wasn't the word, per-say- it was the way the word sounded, what it sounded similar to. It matched a smaller word she knew, and they formed a title that she had read in labels and signs and all manner of things since birth...

Or, rather since creation.

Did it matter?

-No, not to her. The word 'Vault' matched up with... Something...

Something technologically significant.

Technologically...

TECH-nologically! Yes!

TECH.

The word was 'Tech', and they went together.

Vault-Tech.

That was it.

"Was that place made by 'Vault-Tech'?" She spoke unevenly, the name finding a strange flavor off her tongue.

Sanford sounded surprised when he responded.

"Yeah, yeah it was!" He smiled. "How'd you know that?"

"They were at the head of many projects revolving around me." She admitted. "At least, I think."

"No one knows much about Deathclaws," Sanford shrugged. "-I suppose I shouldn't be surprised if the knowledge alludes even the DEATHCLAWS themselves..."

"My kind were a weapons project, everyone knows that..." She waved a claw dismissively, jaws rolling in thought, eyes off in the horizon.

Sanford's own eyes bugged underneath his helm's visors- he raised a finger, and shut himself up.

No, not precisely. The fact that Deathclaws were a, in quote- 'Weapons Project' -was not generally accepted as common know-what and fact. Actually, there were scientists and warlords across not only the Commonwealth, but in D.C. that would KILL for that knowledge.

Now it was his turn to be confused.

It explained much, of course, if it were true- Deathclaws were just too... PERFECT, to be simply naturally talented predators. Their agility, speed, accuracy and lethality were all balanced in harmony- he could see a computer doing that more than mother-nature in her mutated glory today.

But that didn't explain how or why there was a difference between when she was saying as 'Intelligent' and 'Regular' members of her species.

What was the deal with that?

"...What do you mean, 'Weapons Project'?" He tried first.

"You don't know anything about that, monsieur'?"

"Uhhhh... Listen, I dunno' who you've been talking to, but, NO ONE does."

"The humans overseeing the old rulership hid it?"

"'Overseeing'? 'Rulership'? Do you mean the U.S Government?"

"It... Involved something with a white-home?"

"AYE! The White House! The good ole' home of the U.S.A, and UUUNNNCCCLLLLEE-Sam!" Hancock interrupted with a cheer. "HOO-RAH! Communism equals death, pansies!"

The Deathclaw sighed, and tried again with a lapse in tone.

"-Mon Dieu'... FINE, White HOUSE. That is what you speak of, monsieur'?"

"The Government used to be the head power over this place and the places around it, yeah." Sanford shrugged. "They're gone though. They've been gone."

"-Well, your old 'Government' are the progenitors of my kind. My pack and I were rather appalled by the idea when we started digging through records we'd found. It took years to piece it all together."

"Did someone attack your pack?" Sanford just asked it to get it out. It ate at him.

The Deathclaw chewed her teeth together, and answered curtly.

"Yes."

"Was it the Enclave?"

"Yes."

"Were you the only one who survived?"

"...Yes."

"...Then, I... I think that makes it easier for me to understand... At least, a bit."

"It's not so simple."

"THAT, I understand."

"Do you?" The Deathclaw became dull in tone."If you tamper with the shadows, you get lost in the dark."

"I know not to screw with things out of my reach, Ms. Deathclaw, thank you."

"You're not very convincing."

"Arguably, this entire conversation could be a lie," Sanford reasoned with a snap. "-We both could be spewing made-up tales, and leaving out the extent of our life stories- arguably, this ENTIRE conversation, is not very convincing...

-BUT, we're both here. We're both carrying on with the talk, we're both listening, and I sense a bit of intrigue with each word, and personally I don't feel much of a need to skew what I've seen when I describe it to you, or ANY of the other people I've told it to before."

The Mr. Gutsy floated up beside him and cuffed his left pauldron with a quick swipe of his buzz-saw's side.

"It's true, ya' walking Iguana," Hancock said. "-He told me the same stuff, in the same way when I first asked!"

"But you're a... MACHINE." She trailed.

Hancock hovered there for a good second- whipped his vision between the two of them, and activated his buzz-saw with a whir of motors.

"RACIST!" He belted. "EAT A GYM SOCK, BIGOT!"

"Oh, please, just SHUT UP." Sanford growled. "All you've been doing is SCREAMING for the last few hours."

"There's a lot to scream about!" Hancock answered. "-In fact, if I had no mercy- I have all the opportunity to jab my arm at the reptile and cry out- ' _Gorijra! AYYIIIIAAAA!_ ' every few minutes, but because I'm a benevolent soul... I will not! Sir."

"That would make you twenty times more annoying than already."

"Ha! You're a funny man! Kill yourself."

"Ah-hah. Listen, Deathclaw, Han' may be a robot, but, if anything, I have nothing else to challenge my own beliefs..."

"Which means?" The reptile frowned with its sharp-toothed underbite.

"Hancock is another 'Person' in my book, I'd appreciate it if he was in yours too. At least while I'm around."

She was apprehensive of simply going with what she was being asked. But, looking between these two characters, 'People' that had annoyed her for hours on end- it felt like -she had bit of a respect for how willing they came off as. At least the human. Again with that detail.

Reaching up to lightly draw the tips of her claws in a itch-destroying scratch to her chin, she sighed, and nodded once.

"Fine."

"Finally, some RESPECT! Thank you!" Hancock victoriously announced.

"You know, we still don't know what to call you, exactly..." Sanford angled his helm's chin. "-Doesn't 'Deathclaw' seem a little weird?"

"No." She simply stated. "I call you 'Human'. What is the problem?"

"Why not address me by name? Why not tell me YOURS?"

"I don't HAVE a name. Or a title. I just AM. I have always been that. JUST ME." She said flatly. "I prefer it that way. Names carry too much."

"Names give you identity." He reasoned.

"Names remind me of my own life. Which I dislike."

"You don't like... Your life?"

"No. I never have."

"Why though?"

"The Enclave were not the first of your species to wrong me. That is why I do not respect humans. That is why I do not like them. That is why I am unable to make sense of your attempts at mere communication. Can you blame me really?"

"No. I can't."

"Some measure of reassurance..."

"...Listen, about this mill... It's on the coast?"

"It is not far."

"You're not worried about the Mirelurks?"

"...Mire... Lurks?"

"The crabs? The mutant crabs, yes? No?"

"The crustaceans?"

"...Fine, yes, them."

"They tend to stay away from me."

"I guess that's why we haven't been jumped yet..."

"Yes. Now, monsieur', I want to reach the location in mind. I want to reach it soon."

"Just one last thing,"

"Mm."

"Where are you gonna' go when we get your fingers out of my armor?"

"Away."

"...That's a shame."

"Don't humor me."

"Have you purposefully detached from things before?"

"You are asking personal questions about a life I do not want to discuss."

"But it's YOUR life."

"And it's my choice to keep it silent. In the shadows. Lost in the dark. I do not appreciate your badgering to unlock it from me, please stop."

"Alright, look, you're right, I'm sorry. I can't help my nosiness- I haven't had a full blown talk with someone in years. Can you at least cut me some slack for that?"

"I never penalized you for your reasoning."

"...Good. Good, that's, uh... That's good."

"Mm. I'm moving."

"So you are..."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Here's a big shift of gears.

The world is reoriented, and for the moment, the eyes do not observe the same subject in question. The landscape is still dead, the highways blasted, still and cold- and the cities strewn and ruined like giant, stone corpses.

Robert Cannary, was a rather slim built guy, he was always hidden- both figuratively and physically -from those he did not trust, which, in his shoes, was half the world.

He was shadowy, unseen during the day but very active at the times of night- and to add in a rather poorer or better off combination- (It depended on who viewed it and how) -he was also the most curious man in the city.

Robert was never satisfied with things he claimed as 'Chain-link fences and yellow tape' -he always wanted the full idea, the full story, all the material in the bucket right down to the scrapings at the bottom.

He was honest about it, but not so much to those he performed his makeshift espionage on- notably, those he targeted tended to be less than high on the scale of morality.

Rob made enemies really quick- it was so bad, that he had been shot at -many times, and one of those times had been from a trained individual, a sharpshooter in employment from someone or some group he'd angered.

The sniper put a round clean through his cheek bone one night- and when Robert's luck seemed to just barely be holding out, he went to a 'Surgeon' near the borders of the Diamond City in Boston's heart- and it turned out his would-be doc' was ALSO less than a good-guy.

The doctor was a freak, he had a thing with 'Tampering' with patients.

Half of Robert's skull was either outright replaced, or hard-wired with bionics by the end of the operation. When he woke, he was in pain, his face on fire- the doctor and his surgeons were nowhere to be found.

Having his entire head ridden with synthetic plates, a synthetic jaw, pipes and wires- Robert knew that anyone worth their salt in the Commonwealth would start reporting him to everyone and everything as a SYNTH of the dreaded Institute.

This was the same Institute, mind you, that had murdered people and replaced them with duplicate synthetic operating systems. Obviously, the citizens of the wasteland here did not LIKE the Institute in the slightest.

In fact, people HATED them. With a passion.

Enough people were gunning for him, might as well not make it worse.

The heat no longer effected his horrendously rebuilt bionic internals- as, once during a trip to the bathroom, he discovered the doctor had replaced A LOT more, than just his face -so, with the lack of physical discomfort from, say temperature, he walked around all day hidden in a big coat and hood.

Even at night, Robert Cannary NEVER took off his hood and coat. NEVER.

But on the lonely streets of the city of Boston, this evening, he had his hood pulled back, and for the first time in weeks- he strolled the dark alleys with his real face.

The plates covering his bionic/organic mesh of his skull, crackled as he smiled, pushing the ones replacing his laugh-lines upwards in an arc. He blinked his organic eye, gazing around at the dark husks of apartments and office complexes.

The night was crisp, it was silent, and the fighting had slackened.

Tonight was a good one for a stroll.

 _With risk, of course_. He mentally reasoned.

Robert was around thirty in his physical existence- though with the bionics coursing through his body, he really did not have a set lifespan anymore, as he found his own systems did not age as did his name.

His inability to stay away from exposing the more stealthy of the world's many criminals, did him no good in the looks department- but he would never take away what he had done, or what he had learned, just to get his face back.

Boots clacking against the sidewalk- he made an effort to stick to the darker portions of the streets he traversed- a safety precaution. It was that, and never walk directly down the center of any aisle or passage, stick to the side against the walls.

Brushing past a dented street lamp- his coat flurried in a light swoosh of air from the windy dusk.

Robert saw his goal that night when he rounded a brick corner of an apartment's first floor.

Stopping, back-peddling with a slight chuckle at his own lack of perception- he rolled his one organic eye, picked out a pair of binoculars from his coat's inner collar, and pressed them to the synthetic structure of his face.

"Bingo." He spoke with a deep thrum in his mechanical vocal emitters. "There you are. C'mon, show me the goods."

Through the view of his lenses- a collection of soldiers, armed people wearing all manner of ragtag armor and blunt protection, hauled a group of wooden crates, unlabeled, and filled to their tops with cylindrical containers and cardboard boxes- to be tied on the flanks of Brahman.

The two-headed, mutated bovines mewled in agitation as the Raiders slung these massive containers over their shoulders, one on each flank.

Robert Cannary smiled again, grew agitated with his synthetic jawline- and scratched at it with a fiddling finger until a spark leapt out by his right-side hinge.

Taking out a pad of stained, old paper- he snatched up a pen, jotted something down, and immediately grew stiff when he heard the metallic swipe of a ignited piece of war equipment.

 ** _SHSK-VMMM_**

"-Don't you fuckin' move, Robby'." The ugliest man he had ever seen in his life, stood there, with spiked, metal shoulder pads held aloft by leathers and padded slabs of thicker material across his torso and legs.

The Raider chewed a cigarette as he jabbed the barrel of a primed Laser Rifle in the sneaking half-bionic man's direction.

"We got'ya this time." He added, smugly.

"Now, just hold on, Feng," Robert sighed, standing straighter from his hunched lean on the corner of the apartment- his wrist flicked out, and the notepad and pen vanished in the shadows of the sidewalk corner.

"-I'm not resisting, just, let me get the pistol on my belt..."

"Smart man."

"Aye, sir. Hold on, hold on..."

"Faster."

Robert snatched up a scoped magnum, sighed, as this was the hundredth-millionth time someone was taking it from him- and dropped it by his feet, right as two pairs of arms wretched his wrists behind his hips, and started shoving him closer to the one called Feng.

Feng, with a strip of black hair above his lip that acted like a sick comedy of a stache'- smiled with half of his yellow teeth, and nodded towards the operation down the street.

"Let Hark see 'em."

"Hark?!' Robert snapped. "Now-now, boys... You all didn't say anything about old Hark running this gig."

"OOPS." Feng snarled. "I got him."

Keeping his rifle leveled with Rob's back, the two other goons holding him shuffled him towards the larger group of Raider thugs down the pavement.

Robert Cannary had gotten himself nabbed.

Again.

"Aw, shit." He cursed lowly. "Is there at least good room service?"

"Shut the fuck up, Cannary."

"Do you have 'Services' at least?"

"None tha' you'll be seein'."

"What about alcohol?"

"None fer' you."

"Get out of jail free cards?"

"Nah."

"Well, shit."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12**

 **That's When I Came in.**

* * *

She remembered a bit, a wee-bit, about when there was a multilingual training session that was run into the knowledge feed that was implanted into the side of her temple.

She remembered a bit, because there were people around her- humans, humans and robots designed to work the equipment used to monitor and study and craft her, and more robots to use the medical gear in case of disruption or emergency.

At all times there were three armed individuals- at all times, no exceptions. Sometimes the identities changed with the guards, and she only knew that because the communications chatter that buzzed inside their big armored suits, would be responded to by different voices.

Two of them had guns- energy weapons that were the source of the green scythes that would become her bane in later life, and one had a fire weapon, an incinerator- the thing could burn a welt through a steel wall.

The guy with the flamethrower was the only one of the three guards on station that never was transitioned out for other duties- again, she only knew this because it was the same voice talking beneath the helmet all the time.

"Superintendent of Arms, Laslar Sedunn." He reported to a group of workers. "I'm here to keep your hound under control. Again."

Laslar Sedunn was at first, a recluse of a man that never spoke outside the low banter in his helm's radio uplink- and never moved his eyes from the chest area of the Deathclaw's restraint harness as the scientists continued to 'Grow' her.

The multilingual session- the data itself, she recalled with agitation, was interrupted when Laslar reached over and manually shut it off, causing a reverberation of cerebral backlash to wiggle down her spinal chord and neck base.

The scientists in the room- the bright minds, the smarter ones that were doing all the work -became loud and angered.

"-That'll kill it, Enclave man!" A woman hissed. "You want a weapon or dead meat?"

"I prefer tongues of those whose words annoy me. Shut your mouth. Work without the cultural infusion."

"It'll be mindless." A man said naively.

"What else but perfect?" Laslar sneered beneath his snarling helmet. "My employers are growing displeased with the amount of time you're sucking up with these unneeded attributes."

"We're following the blue-print set by the White House Admini-" The man never finished his sentence.

"WE, are the White House now, doctor. Do as I say."

"-Y-Yes, sir..."

"The Type-III headsets were not our solution. THIS is. Give it to us, and we give you your lives back, it's plain and simple."

"The Type-III headsets were not meant for the subjects."

"The Type-III- Does. Not. WORK." Laslar chimed. "Do you think I tolerate even one mistake within my battalion? I've been generous to you people- and you've been biting the hand for too long."

"We're not even up to date with 'Official' teams of the Enclave to even HOPE with competing to their results!"

"Double the reason for you work twice as fast."

"You're insane."

"I am. The world isn't going to kneel on its own. That's MY job to do that for it. Make it happen you twit."

-The berating that Superintendent Laslar Sedunn harried the scientific team forging her with, always stood as a dominant reminder of her past, her origin, her reason for even being alive.

It carried on with her years after she escaped, and the scientists were all dead by Laslar's hand.

It carried on to effect her interactions with those she cared about in her pack.

 _I may not be as smart as you, but that does not make me a mere 'thing' to brush away._

 _Then why not enact the effort for me?_

 _You are temperamental… I do not believe you are sincere with what you say._

"Sincerity has NOTHING to do with it. Leave me ALONE."

-Right on the dot, those were the last words she exchanged with him before the gunfire erupted, before the rotary blades of armored flying beasts shredded the air, and the iron boots of a hundred trained and armed humans stormed the land.

Right on the dot, the same organization to oversee her creation and subjugation, had returned for her. And up until recently, she hadn't even known it.

Some of her kind were apprehended right away, restrained by magnetic tethers and plasma-cuffs at their ankles and wrists- on the spot. Enclave soldiers simply walked over, pulled out small cases filled with medical equipment- and drilled metal collars into their necks, and thin, antenna-laden head pieces into their temples and over their eyes.

Any warriors that resisted were shredded by scything beams of crimson or green. Autocannons and miniguns erupted from the gunships overhead and ended the members of the pack that could not be wrestled to the dirt- dead or alive –by the ground teams.

A missile trailed across the gray sky in the form of a miniature comet- sailing over the chaos and murder- it flew into the ragged maw of stone entry that marked the upper chambers of their interior home, and sent a whirlwind of flame out of every hole and orifice of rock when it vanished inside.

Sprinting for her life- she was shot several times –rounds entering her thigh, hip, and right shoulder, a beam of energy cauterized a patch of scales near her center back.

Wounded, confused, disoriented- she had started sprinting when it turned her past had found her in a place of sanctuary, revealed now as a place of false hopes and comforts. Without breath and in pain- she slumped over miles away, her gifted speed- even for that of her own species –having carried her far enough to avoid further pursuit.

Gunshots rang for another hour in uneven bouts as the Enclave scoured the entire area, Vertibird aircraft zoomed back and forth a few times- some landed, some took off with great metal containers mag-locked to their bellies, containing the mind-wiped survivors of the pack.

Raw grief ate into her system- alongside pure anger, and lack of knowledge to why and how the Enclave had found her.

She was so enraged, so passionately engulfed in a instantaneous hatred for the Enclave military, that she did not even regard the death of those bodies that had meant the most to her, until hours had passed of her heaving away hidden behind a crag of boulders.

The flashing image of the male she had never learned of in title or name- if he even had one -becoming obliterated by hundreds of tiny metal slugs that slowly chewed him away in horrible red wrenches from his physical form, filled her mind.

Curling up in a ball- it was the most pathetic display of torture she had ever presented for least of all herself, EVER. Compressing her knees to the scales of her torso- her yellow eyes become highlighted with moisture, she grabbed a rock off the ground and stuck in her mouth.

Clamping down as hard as she could with her razor-sharp fangs, she made high-pitched sobs, clenching her eyes shut.

It seemed like hours more- and having her mutated bodily structure figure -the rock cracked into a million pieces before her teeth did, and she was honestly hoping for the latter rather than the prior.

Inside her deepest shadowed thoughts- she wished the Enclave had just seen her and shot her.

She didn't like who she was, WHAT she was, and why she was living at all.

Her young life was filled with nothing but terrifying uncertainty about practically every damn thing she came across or got involved in... Violence, seething rage, sorrow, and a rampaging storm of negativity that shockingly failed to consume her every day.

Needless to say- the hours spent in the real world -understand, OUTSIDE her fantasies of dreams or dead hopes of simply being her to live her life for the simple sake of living it- the hours spent here were not pleasant.

She had grown conniving, detesting of every breathing and non-breathing thing around her- she felt cheated by creation itself.

Why should she be so miserable? What had she done to warrant it? She had done NOTHING, there was no right or reasonable explanation of WHY she was in such complete, and utter HELL.

No reason at all.

None.

"I hope we get here soon, Ms. Deathclaw," Sanford muttered behind her. "I have to check on my hideout.."

"The Fortress! The impenetrable Fortress!" Hancock clarified. "-Laughing-Boy here took an old gas station and turned it into Fort Knox!"

"Or something like that, Han'..."

"Indeed! Perhaps it's more a Alcatraz on land sort of thing... Or... Maybe it's the house of every drug-trafficking politician who existed before the War!"

"Maybe."

"MAYBE, he says... BAH!"

Glaring with a dissecting need to find something, anything, to change the subject and avoid a ranting spree- the Deathclaw narrowed her eyes with a grimacing grumble, examining the horizon of the coastline.

She thought that the big roofed structure- the one with its rear partially tumbled into the sea -was the mill plant she was searching for, and she could discern it from the distance its mottled, chipped wooden blue structure and brown shingled roof.

A big stone chimney was half crumbled on the opposite sided face of the structure- a pair of skimmers were beached on the sands directly adjacent to the building's flank, their hulls breached and cabins flooded with tan water.

Spiraling series of mud lanes cut through a few ruins and deserted vehicles- across a mile or more of terrain, roughly -to the entrance of that plant.

Seeing that made her exhale a hiss of wind from between her fangs in sarcastic exasperation.

This was insane. Caught with the town boobs, AND running around in the slog-pits of the Commonwealth.

Fan-frikkin'-tastic.

"I hate my life..." She mumbled.

"What was that?" Sanford asked. "I didn't hear."

"Nothing."

"Ah."

"The structure I was talking about is there," She pointed. "The blue one."

Sanford nudged to the side to view around her flank- gauntlets holding her thumb and pointy respectively to lean forwards and examine past her arm in his way.

"Oh yeah."

"Fear not, monsieur', our nightmare is almost over."

"Nightmare? This is the most exciting stuff that's happened in months!"

"-But I thought it was WEEKS, sir!" Hancock mocked. "Nothing exciting in WEEKS. What?! 'You saying I'm boring?!"

"That was about a firefight..." Sanford sighed. "-And no, you're too much of a malfunctioning piece of shrapnel to be BORING."

"YeaHEAH!" Hancock laughed.

The Deathclaw yanked her wrist again- tugging Sanford out of his conversation with a brief stumble.

"-Ow! Not the elbow...OO!" He failed in clenching his impacted arm-joint through the metal plating of his armor with a wrapping gauntlet. "Stop doing that!"

"Company."

"What do you mean?"

"Company, you monkey. You have guns, use them."

"... Is this about that whole discussion beforehand-"

The Deathclaw's nostrils flared in agitation- she turned slightly over her trapped arm -reached up, and clasped the thimble-like mass of Sanford's helmet with two of her nailed fingers from the free claw.

Turning her fingers, she angled his head to face where she was facing ahead with a tiny creak of steel- and Sanford immediately reclined a bit inside the suit with a gasp.

"-WOAH! Shit!"

"AHHH-HAH! -VICTIMS!" Hancock chortled, zipping by the human's side with a thrust of ignition fire- green bolts of plasma flicked away from the barrel of his gun.

The creature was crawling on four chitinous legs that were angularly jointed- ended in blades that pin-prickled in insect like skittering as the thing traveled.

Big claws that were larger than Sanford's head were ajar at both sides and on the end of two armored, barnacle ridden arms draped with dark green tendrils of seaweed. A tiny head in comparison to the body sprouted up under the top chin of a rounded shell covering the creature's hunched back.

A pair of rounded bug-like red eyes, mandibles that extended down its oral orifice akin a pair of bladed doors- the mouth chittered and drooled acidic green bile, the shell making scrabbling noises whilst the hundreds of barnacles and ocean debris crusted to its girth shifted around.

It was a Mirelurk, and it obviously was too stupid- or hungry -to care about the imposing form of the Deathclaw or the guy in Power Armor.

"-Eat this, crab-sicle!"

 ** _CLAK CLAK_**

A pair of green blobs flew into its layered, chitin body- vanishing in puffs of tan soot and chips of exoskeleton.

The mutated crustacean flinched in its sprint for them, stumbled on one leg, and actually sped UP.

"Not working, Han'!" Sanford snapped, grabbing his SMG with one hand, and jabbing a finger into the Deathclaw's ribs with the other hand. "We need to back up!"

Snarling, the reptile turned around and poked his breastplate with her nail.

"Don't. TOUCH. Me."

"-Not the time! Back up!"

"I'm working on it!"

 ** _CLAK CLAK CLAK_**

 ** _CLAK CLAK_**

"-Would the Sunday night reality-show couple stop bickering and FALL BACK?!" Hancock cried. "We're gonna' get CRABBED! HOLY SHIT!"

 ** _CLAK CLAK CLAK_**

"-Alright, come with me!" Sanford heaved back, and started tugging against the Deathclaw's wrist, dragging her with him with a few stumble of confusion.

"What are you doing?" The Deathclaw snapped.

"You can't take on that thing in a fight!"

"I'M the one to judge who bests me!"

"Not today, sista'."

"What did you just say?!"

"Come-on, get-OUT-!" Sanford turned the torso of his armor in a quick swing- uncomfortably angling his legs and arms to keep them facing the Mirelurk, the Deathclaw was carried by the immense weight, and almost fell on her face as she tumbled out of his line of sight.

The Mirelurk was a few feet away- its carapace pocked with black soot marks from Hancock's gun.

"I've seen jungles in 'Nam take less punishment then this! MAYDAY!" Hancock screamed.

"You weren't IN 'Nam, you moron!"

 ** _CLKCLCKCLCKLCKLCKLCKLCK_**

-Together, man and Mr. Gutsy showered the crustacean with bullet and plasma- to the point, where right as the Deathclaw was standing back onto her feet, she felt a warm paste-like sensation spatter on one of her legs.

Watching the Mirelurk- she was granted the last vision of the creature whole as it broke apart in green offal from the barrage of fire. It's arms tore off, chitin cracked and innards squelched, the monster splattered face-first onto the ground a hole-ridden, gashed mess.

It twitched, and a faint squeaking noise sounded- the mutated crab lay still like a big green, brownish lump sticking out of the muddy earth, seeping ooze, one leg of the four still on its lower half, occasionally jerking.

"I knew I'm immune to the crabs! Take THAT, Healthcare Magazine!" Hancock proclaimed- he flew right up to the remains, unscrewed a sealing knob somewhere on his chassis -and started draining a thin stream of black liquid that trailed down the Mirelurk's shell in a miniature onyx river between barnacles and chitin lumps.

A thin waft from the scent of engine coolant tainted the air, and Sanford's jaw went slack at the same time his nose crinkled.

"-Damn it, Han'! That's disgusting!" Sanford said in horror- changing the drum of his SMG with awkwardness working over the Deathclaw's arm.

There was a loose metal creak as Hancock put a screw back in place, and reclined to finish closing a panel by one of his legs.

"DOMINANCE!" He swung his buzz-saw around.

"Neanderthal..."

"Don't speak Shakespear at me, sir!"

"Shakespear isn't a language, you trainwreck."

Pressing a knuckle into the ground to right herself- the Deathclaw had a twisted expression of perturbed distress on her face- in fact, it looked as for a second she was going to eat Sanford.

She went to provide for him strife again- to smack him around inside that stupid tin-can that prevented him from being dead for the last few hours -and almost keeled over when the human reached up and popped the helmet off with a hissing of steam.

Cradling the helmet under his arm, he dropped the SMG by his foot and 'Tsk'ed in annoyance.

At first, the man was frowning in the robot's direction as he flew around in circles on a tirade about the durable armor of some long forgotten piece of military equipment -and looked at the Deathclaw with a big, stupid grin.

"How are ya'?" He laughed. "I know, the helmet's an improvement, right?"

She hadn't even formulated a response, her jaws locked and expression set with grinding molars.

She didn't LIKE being told what to do.

Right as she worked up some horrible insult in ape-tongue, Sanford's eyes bugged- for the quintillioth time today -and he slapped the metal helmet back over his head with a clung of metal, bending down to pick up his gun.

"That thing brought friends!" He announced.

Hancock stopped cheering, whipped back towards the body of the fallen Mirelurk- and made a 'Hoo-rah!' followed by another barrage of whipping plasma from his ranged-equipped arm.

The Deathclaw swallowed when she turned around- uncaring as her arm was jerked from her side to being drawn out in front of her as the human wormed his way around her hips to face the enemy.

Bursting from the wet coastline land were at least six or seven of the hunchback, chitin-rounded hills that symbolized a Mirelurk's back- they were near duplicates of the creature they'd killed, hued swamp green, brown and tan.

They chittered in a small mob towards them- and shockingly -one of them dropped when Hancock's luckiest shot of the day imploded its exoskeleton-sealed skull.

 ** _CLAKSHSK_** -It was a nasty sound alright. Spewing yellow and muck-colored goop and chunks of white flesh, whenever the Mirelurks were cracked open like that, it was almost as if someone had taken a plastic container of rice-pudding mixed with mushrooms, and spilled it out on the deck.

In addition, that rice-pudding would have been WAY past the expiration date.

Like by a few years.

Mirelurks were fragged to all heck on the outside AND in.

Who knew?

"I'll cover your back." She muttered- breaking out of her trance, the Deathclaw opened her free palm, and the nails that had been sheathed flicked out with tiny slides of bone.

"Aim for the heads, Han'!" Sanford barked. "The HEADS, you dumbass!"

"But I need to get at least ONE testicle shot!"

 ** _CLCKCLKCLCKLCKCLCK_**

 ** _CLAK_**

 ** _CLK_**

 ** _CLK_**

 ** _CLK_**

"They don't HAVE any!"

"HA! Their lives must suck!"

"All the more reason to-OHSHIT!" -Sanford cursed- stepping back hurriedly, his voice cracked from the startling speed in which one of the Mirelurks crawled right up to him.

The mutated creature clamped a claw in his direction- missed -to even the Deathclaw's surprise, as Sanford quickly jerked away from the attack.

As he swung away- the Deathclaw followed the momentum, taking his place, she stood before the Mirelurk, snatched out her claw, and wrapped her fingers around the entire chitinous forearm.

She grunted with effort, and there was a squelching crack. The Mirelurk's arm was torn clean off, leaving a pulsing green stump that trailed connection to the arm briefly in the form of offal-draping tendrils of ripped innards.

The Mirelurk made a tiny screeching sound- and she ended it, tossing the arm away, and driving the center nail of the five she held, through the bug-like face of the crab's front, scything away the entire insectoid mug in place of a disgusting, gaping hole that splurged white blood all over her fingers.

She planted her foot into the shell- sent the corpse flailing and tossing away -swung her arm, and let the weight, and her feet- carry her back behind Sanford whilst he was spun back to face the still oncoming members of the deceased's species.

"-WOO!" He stumbled, shaking his head, and pulling back the bolt on the gun as he finished feeding a clip instead of a drum. "This is like a tag-team!"

"Shut up and SHOOT!" She barked.

"Ugh- Sorry, MOM."

 ** _CLCKLCKLCKLCKLCKLCKLCKLCKLKCLK_**

The fireline that he and Hancock established did not falter.

However, the battle itself, also did not wane as of yet.

When could there be an encounter with just ONE monster? Was that so hard to ask for?

Just a lone dirtbag without a posse' of dirtbags? Where were they at?

"Sir, lookout!"

Sanford drained his last clip for the submachine gun with a climactic killing of another Mirelurk- the last rounds chewing away its upper torso beneath the shell and its scrawny face in a burst of vomit-like organics.

"Damn!" He cursed, stepping back when a larger, darker-colored crustacean used the back of its claw to swat the still-standing deceased away in a clacking smack of chitin to chitin.

The body bundle on its hunched-back- and the brown Mirelurk scrabbled right over it, extended its claws to the Power Armored human- and instead went face to face with his Deathclaw companion.

Sanford jutted his gut out- spun like some sick interpretive dancer -and brought the Deathclaw in a stumbling fill to his vacated stance. The claw vanished under the whimsical strike of a set of nails that could tear titanium- the Mirelurk reeled back, and died when the claw arced back and severed its face in two jagged flaps.

It collapsed raggedly- right as Sanford extended his forearm in a lean over her hip- his silenced sidearm clicked until the clip ran dry, and another mutated crab dropped like a bad habit with a hole-ridden head.

Hancock was actually, while all this transpired- relatively unphazed in his actions throughout the fight.

The Mirelurks saw Sanford and his new buddy a more prevalent threat- thus they all ran at THEM, not the Mr. Gutsy. So, Hancock was going to town just blaring his plasma gun at anything not humanoid that moved.

"HA-HA! HAHAHAHA! Eat it you-OH-HOLY MACKEREL!"

"Not a time for fish-jokes, Han'!" Sanford said with a roll of his eyes- changing magazines for his sidearm.

"You two always-" The Deathclaw's rumbling speech was interrupted- she reached out, swept with her arm a few times, cast away a severed set of gore-spewing arms, and kicked the corpse of a Mirelurk away. "-Run into these situations, DON'T you?!"

"Pretty much, Ms. Deathclaw." Sanford replied, emptying his gun into another Mirelurk that was bulging from the mud of the nearby silt in an attempt to ambush them from the side.

It's face imploded, and sent a traveling bloom of yellow/white spreading across the moist sand it fell into like a gruesome flower bud.

"Je' suis maudit! SATANE'!" She cackled with venomous sarcasm. "Only I could find YOU, monsieur'..."

"I always knew my life would be uplifted by a randomly appearing mythical being! I KNEW IT!"

"WHAT?!"

"Nothing! I'm ranting!"

"See that, sir? I'm RUBBING off on you!" Hancock scoffed loudly over the screams of his gun. "Now we got crabs because of you! Happy?"

"I agree with the Deathclaw!" Sanford snapped. "-Go fall in the ocean!"

"-SPROCKET PUMP! SUCK IT!"

"Filthy freak!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

There was a flash of light- luminescent, dim, and buzzing with frying ozone. The flash gave way to a highly offensive idling to the iris of his organic eye, it made him hiss in discomfort, and it also made him realize several physical sensations at once.

One- the least disturbing -he couldn't move his arms or his ankles, all his limbs in general and he was sitting. Sitting, and unable to move.

Gee, he wondered what exactly had been DONE to him? Hmm? Notice said sarcasm. He wasn't amused.

Second- the in-between in unconformities this evening -his gear was gone, ALL of it. The flat canvas bag containing his cameras, his recorders, his scanners and mines and all that fancy gadgetry crap he toted with him everywhere, was not over his shoulders.

That stung, but it could be replaced.

Third- the thing that made him ice-over with anxiety -his hood was yanked back, and cool air was exposed to the synthetic portions of his head, and the few organic strips left.

THAT wasn't good in the slightest.

Nuh-uh.

"-AwwwwwwwooooOOOOHHHHH!" He roared in frustration. "Damn it."

"Comfortable, Mr. Cannary?"

A square room- wooden and plaster, obviously inside an urban structure on the same street he'd been nabbed from -surrounded him with a few pre-War lamps lit under yellow-stained shades that were torn and scorched.

Metal shelving units lined the back of the room beside a wooden door- and the shelves were stocked with all kinds of bladed, or sharp things, a few of them dried brown from usage on some poor soul a long time beforehand.

Swallowing nervously- Robert Cannary looked up at the looming shape standing over him watchfully.

There he was, still as ugly, bulging and overly muscular as he remembered from the day they first started trying to kill each other.

Hark was a big, BIG guy. He had tanned skin that was worked over with so many tattoos, that his ethnicity would utterly be a mystery should a few more patch up the clearer portions on his chest, upper arms and face.

A nasty scar drew up from his bottom lip, and ended in a twisting visage to gradual nothingness just below his left nostril- Robert did that, a few years ago, with a serrated knife.

Oh boy, Hark probably had some overly-elaborate torture plan in place.

"Mr. Cannary, you look ill?" Hark mocked. "Would you like a drink?"

"You have any Nuka-Cherry? I'm parched, man." Rob responded cockily. "How ya' doing, Hark? How's crimes?"

"Hybrid freak."

"That's not very neighborly."

"Drink THIS."

Hark reared back with his hand- and in it was clasped a drained glass bottle.

 ** _CREESSKLKLK_**

"-Ouch." Robert dismissed when the thing fractured into a million reflective pebbles off the top of his cranium with a tiny crash.

The synthetic coverings and portions of his body... LIMITED, pain, per say. It was a welcome addition for things like this.

Hark tossed away the shattered remains still in his grasp- leaned forwards, and clenched a meaty hand around the plastics of Robert's neck.

"I'm gonna' tear you apart!" He barked. "First the arms, then the legs! Then you go in the trash compacter!"

"That's a step down, Hark!" Robert complained. "In the Pitt you were going to throw me in a cauldron of molten steel, what the heck happened?"

"SHUT UP!"

Hark waved his hand, and two other figures emerged from the shadows of the room- one of them was the ugly freak who had apprehended him, Feng.

Feng gave off a girly grin with all his yellow, few remaining teeth, and grabbed his left arm while the goon opposite side took the right. Robert was stood from his seat, and carted towards the door.

Hark, the leader in question here- reached to a taped sling holding over his back, pulled out a weapon, and held the rifle-like configuration in his hands as he covered the spy's rear. If one thing had been learned by those that dealt with Rob', it was that he was an escape artists. A GOOD one.

It was amazing that Hark hadn't just shot him.

It was also really stupid.

"Hark, the villains always die in the movies when they take the hero prisoner..." Robert warned, looking down at his ankles and wrists- both firmly linked together with double knots of rope.

"I ain't got a HERO, Cannary. I've got a rodent, and rodents get STEPPED ON!"

"Squeak-squeak?"

"SHUT THE HELL UP!"

Hark lashed out with the rifle- and Cannary suddenly couldn't remember his own name amid the flushing pain flowing through his head.

Even the synthetics didn't save him from blacking out.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 13**

 **It Never Ends. Kill Me.**

* * *

Usually when these things had given him problems in the past, he had either been forced to run- (those were usually the instances when he had first gotten out of the Vault) -or they had been numbering little more than two or three.

Ironically, when Sanford had acquired the company of Hancock- the bane of Earth, known otherwise -Mirelurks had surprisingly gone thin on him. It was stupid, how it just so happened he found what he needed to slap them, and then, they were gone.

Figured.

NOW, it turns out, they were just getting the family together.

Because, with the surrounding mounds of offal and filth, it was hard to tell how many they'd killed.

The smell was appalling, the place looked like Lucifer's toilet after someone came in and mixed it all up with a giant brush made of dirt. Dead Mirelurks were gridded all over the place, though in a somewhat straight path that could be traced.

Most of the bodies had bullet holes and scorch marks rending through their hides- a few were blown to pieces, and a few were TORN to pieces.

Sanford stood before a killing field- and despite the dryness of ammunition he held, the lost breath and the fact that he stunk horribly of perspiration beneath the Power Armor suit, he could say he was proud of the work done here.

Sighing heavily, he coughed when his intake of breath met some resistance in expanding his gut around the Deathclaw's fingers, still wedged in an impaling stick through the belly section of the suit.

The reptile had become stained with blood from some of the Mirelurks, she was heaving, and Sanford looked over at her free palm, and could clearly see those strange retractable nails sliding in and out of their sheathes.

The two of them stood at the highest point of a raised incline in the coastal land- to their backs was the remnants of a small wooden building, and at their feet in a white, sickening drag down the side of the hill were three or four corpses of mutated crustaceans.

It was like every Mirelurk in the area had ganged up on them, and that was unusual as it was unbelievable that it had even happened in the first place. More unbelievable, was that they had survived it.

In the silence only broken by his and the Deathclaw's breathing- Sanford fiddled with his armor, searching for another drum, or a clip to feed his emptied SMG. Even though he knew he was dry, he examined himself anyway, and of course, came up with little.

Casting his helmet about to look at both corners of the wooden structure they leaned against, and then all around the hill and the surrounding land they faced- Sanford opened his mouth to speak, and found his words banished under a slight cough.

That had been exhausting. It had taken nearly an hour. The whole world must have been going to shit for the Mirelurks to start forming swarms.

"What's next... Huh? Mirelurks that can walk on two legs...? Ha." Sanford wheezed.

The Deathclaw's elongated head turned over her shoulder to glare at him angrily.

"I believe you humans have a saying for that, monsieur'."

"Walking crabs...?"

"No. 'Don't jinx it.' -Yes?"

"Oh... Yeah, you're right..."

"Don't jinx it. There, I said it."

"SIR! Sir! Look!" Hancock appeared just as fast as he had disappeared somewhere nearby on the other side of the building.

The robot zoomed in from the right, robotic claw jabbing wildly at the top of his chassis' cranium.

"I found another CHEF HAT!"

"Oh my god..." Sanford grumbled.

"How long has that THING, been with you?" The Deathclaw asked lowly.

"Give or take half the time I've been in the Wasteland."

"I still don't understand this... 'Cryo' idea you were speaking about earlier."

"'Cryo Idea'?"

"The explanation for how you're 200 years old."

"You still don't believe me, do you, Ms. Deathclaw?"

"Stop calling me that."

"Then gimme' a god-damned name already."

"I don't want one."

"-Ugh- Look, I'm not even going to try- the 200 years thing. They put me and my parents into pods, they froze us basically. I woke up when the pod systems failed 200 years later. Everyone else in the Vault was dead, or they had left. My parents' bodies weren't there, and the pods were empty..."

She noticed the trailing and commented on it.

"Cared for them?"

"A lot."

"Do you think they're alive?"

"They might as well not be in my life... I don't know."

"Mm."

"-Say, Ms-Uhm... SAY, you never told me about any people you cared about?"

"I still don't plan to."

"That means SOMEBODY existed at one point or another then."

"No."

"We're both outcasts with no allies in a place that requires alliances to be powerful. Listen, a little chatting won't hurt you."

"I don't understand you, human. Are you blind? Do you not see what you're sitting next to? Look at me." She leant down and bore all her fangs a few inches before his helmet's lenses.

"Lovely." Sanford admitted. "Your point?"

"You're a freak aren't you?" The Deathclaw snapped. "You're a freak, and this is why you aren't around other apes, right? Monsieur'?"

"Not a freak. I work better alone. The way this world works... People find my morality to be a problem."

"So, what? Because you won't murder and steal other humans shun you?"

"Not necessarily those extremes..."

"And this is why you tolerate a monster by your side?"

"If you were a monster, you would be trying to kill and eat me right now." Sanford responded. "If you were a monster, you would not have volunteered to take a hard route in freeing yourself from this damn suit, to prevent injury on BOTH sides!

If you were a monster, you wouldn't have even considered sticking with me and Han' for the last day, before trying to claw us to pieces so you could just leave! Here's what I don't understand about YOU-

You're alive! You have the ability to stay alive! Shouldn't that be good? At least to some freaking degree?"

"Monsieur', I'm going to attempt to control my temper, and tell you that you haven't summed up my situation accurately from the get-go."

"Why not? This is what I'm talking about! We're stuck together. You hear? STUCK. We can't just part ways until we figure this out! Physical force won't work, it'll kill one of us! We need to work together here."

"That's what I'm trying to do-"

"Then make it easier, and give me and Han' some more information, so we can HELP each other! That's what allies- even temporary ones -are supposed to do!"

"You want a story, monsieur'? INFORMATION?!"

The Deathclaw stood up, jerking his suit forwards a bit from her wrist, and jabbed a nailed finger in his helmet's vision.

"-You tell me I should be GRATEFUL, for living my life? You tell me that I should understand you two slobs better, and likewise?

I have two things to say to you- the first is, that I have NEVER been grateful for my life! Why? Because all I do every day, of every week, of every month, of every year- Is RUN. I run, I hide in the dark places of the wastes like a rat. I get HURT, I become malnourished, I get dehydrated, and I get the life scared out of me by creatures ten-times more horrible than me, and by genocidal death squads of HUMANS!

THAT, is no life I want to live! I'm miserable! I have nothing, and I HAD no one, until I blundered into the world's only case of physical entanglement to blight the surface of this dead, polluted rock- with YOU two!

-The second thing I have to say, is that I have all the desire in the world to have some form of communication with SOMEBODY! Anybody by this point! I'll have voices in my head in another year!

But do you think I want some random people to trap me in this kind of situation, and then EXPECT me to just know them? To become allies with them?! No! No, YOU, monsieur', can fall in a ravine!

You wanted me to talk?! You pushed a button, monsieur'! Je suis' fait' avec cette' merde! Bon sang'!"

 ** _BLUK_**

-The Deathclaw put a hole in the wooden wall he leant to with her balled fist for good measure.

Silent, and statue still- the Deathclaw tore back her wrist with a fracturing of wood, snorted, and sat back down beside him with a thudding against the dirt. Whilst she buried her face in her free palm.

In a flush of air- Hancock floated over from the foot of the hill, ringing around a few precariously positioned Mirelurk bodies- and hovered a few feet away from where the shell-shocked Sanford sat.

Shaking his head to clear away the ringing from the Deathclaw's rant- Sanford looked at her, then down at his gut with her hand still jutting out of it, the scaly palm turned upwards to face him.

"Huh." He muttered. "Ouch."

"You just got served, sir." Hancock said informatively.

"Don't you think it's weird, though?"

"According to the manual, I don't THINK, I have core processing to simulate thinking!"

"-For Christ's sake, the point though!"

"FINE! Commie, yes, I do THINK it's weird. But then again, should we be surprised by anything anymore? We came across a talkin' iguana! I regret nothing!"

"Hey, use, uhm… Use this thing," Sanford reached up and tapped a finger on the temple of his helmet, giving off two little rings of steel. "-The uplink."

Talking behind the Deathclaw's back was a pretty daring move, seeing as the thing was literally leant up a centimeter away from him with her face concealed.

Sanford was willing to risk it though- he didn't exactly want to continue making his point in third person, and have her hear him, and like… You know, disembowel him or something. Besides, by this point, Hancock would've been more likely to pull out a snack bag of batteries and watch, laughing, than help.

-Kind of a stupid comparison though- Hancock was out of his processing drive, but he wouldn't let that digitalized insanity work out into a death sentence for either of them, especially if it meant one were in REAL danger.

However, as per normal for when Sanford thought positively about his Mr. Gutsy- Hancock had some form of disaster that turned that good opinion, completely around.

This time, Han' got closer with one of his eye-stalks, blinked the ocu-lenses, and pulled back immediately.

"Huh… Come again, sir? What about your head?"

 _DAMN. IT. C'mon Han'…_ Sanford mentally cried out.

He tapped his finger on the helmet again, and even went so far as to make a- 'Cssshhhh!' noise with his mouth to simulate com static.

The robot reached up with its claw, and patted its side on the flank of his chassis.

"You're confusing me! What?! You want a banana?! A wrench? A wax application?"

"Oh my god, are you, like… Serious?"

"Nah! I'm yukking with ya'! I know! Hold on."

"Thank you, just click the little button on the side of your-"

 ** _WHAM_**

Sanford's head had never angled in such an odd, mis-directed jerk before.

But when his helmet got belted with a ridiculously heavy force, poor Mr. Tobs' head went flying sharply to the right. In fact, Sanford's head got tossed so far to that direction, that the cheek bone of his helmet grazed the inner rim of his shoulder pauldron.

Hancock pulled back, and flapped his claw in the air as if to simulate pain.

"Woo! That suit IS hard as nails!"

Sanford- still frozen from the relent of hit –slowly craned his helmed head back to stare at the robot without comment, or noise.

Hancock waved like an idiot with his buzzsaw, the wrist squeaking.

Sanford cricked his neck, and belted out-

"WHAT IN THE LIVING FUCK, IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

"Don't worry, sir, I got-ya'!" Hancock jabbed the saw forwards. "I'd wink, but the ocu-lenses don't work all that good for it, monkey-man."

"I DIDN'T- I-…. AGH…. I didn't tell you to HIT me, you dumb DOS system!"

"Hey! Now that's offensive!"

"Oh! EXCUSE me, I didn't know it wasn't appropriate to become flustered when someone bitch-slaps you out of nowhere!'

"It was done with affection, sir!"

"I'll show you affection…"

"You don't have any AMMO! Ha! Stick that in your bong!"

"-You have a freaking gun in that black-hole on your back? Huh?"

"Ten or twenty. Why?"

"…..Open the trunk, now."

"NAGULESE."

Hancock levitated lower, turned around, and popped open the storage unit with a hissing ignition, and metallic flap.

Sanford dug into the rear compartment with one gauntlet, and cringed in horror.

"Oh… I'm gonna' be sick…" He muttered, taking one look inside. "-Ah-AH! Shit! Hancock! There's something cold, and wet in here, Hancock!"

"Don't judge my fetishes, ape!"

"-Holy Christ…"

Sanford kept braving the sludge that practically slathered the interior of the age-old robot- he thought to himself as he did so.

Maybe he was being a little... Pushy. Maybe he really was just latching onto the most unusual, exciting proposition of conversation, of interaction with another living thing.

The thought of his own degradation, his finding of something that NO ONE, had ever found before, and basically leaping right on with- 'Take me somewhere!' -did put him off. Sanford was a lonely guy, people were never a strong suit for him and the Wasteland amplified it.

But... A Deathclaw? One that could speak? In FRENCH of all things?

It was an interesting combination... But, really?

Eventually, with a final gag of disgust- he yanked out a weapon, a two-handed, drum-fed thing from the depths of Hancock's portable hell-hole.

Holding the gun by its butt, he flicked it through the air to knock off any unsightly residue, and brought it in for inspection.

"How long did you have this in here?" He asked.

"I don't know! That's kind of like asking how long the Bermuda Triangle's been eating ships! We'll NEVER know!"

"Ah... This is... Combat shotgun. Drum or mag fed, reasonable condition. Have any slugs?"

"DIVE!"

The Deathclaw stirred while Hancock rummaged with a probing claw- she nudged Sanford's flank with her wrist.

"I'm sorry I became... Loud."

"I understand, no biggie'."

"How many years have you lived, monsieur'? Out of that... POD..."

"Uhm... I've never had a reason to keep track anymore..."

"Roughly."

"Twenty-five, twenty-six? Maybe... You?"

"I don't know."

"Roughly, hm?"

"Very funny. I really have no idea... Twenty, or maybe twenty-um... Nineteen? I don't know, really, monsieur'."

"How were you born?"

"I still don't want to discuss that."

"Alright, I won't press it anymore."

"Mm."

"I seriously hope you reconsider your decision for when we reach that mill."

"I can't reason why you want me to travel with you... You find nothing odd with this, human?"

"I find everything odd about it. Me and Han' are the misfits of this dump, and we'll only be able to help others if we find OTHER misfits. We've come across one or two, but... You know, they turned out to be criminals and they.. Uhm... Died."

"That hemp-sucker never saw what hit 'em!" Hancock clarified. "BOOM!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

This was the part about what they were doing, and why they were doing it, that made him absolutely begin to chafe underneath his armor whenever they told him of his role in it all.

This- specifically, the inability to convert the situation to what HE thought was the best course of action -THIS, was why the Superintendent did not have any form of patience for Eden's ragtag decision making.

Things were becoming oriented around the auras of influence his people- the Enclave -were not supposed to be oriented around. Bluntly, that was because of Eden's sense of self preservation and esteem- the lack of his understanding that it was not his place to play God within his own ranks.

The mutual understanding was, and still stood as an evident part of the Enclave's history- that it was not formed on the same ideals as it was currently structured around. Whether in debate outside of the officer ranks or not- there was indeed little effort to hide what the formation was all about.

The Enclave was created by the power-hungry personal pursuits of a collection of egotistical maniacs- the Superintendent was one of a hundred 'Big Players' in the Enclave that did nothing to dispute it, but also did not preach history for what it was- HISTORY. A thing of the past.

Morality, or perhaps the vast amounts of people they had wronged- probably both -eventually caught up with all the original founders of the newly reformed United States Government- all of them, every last ONE.

-EXCEPT, President Eden.

Eden was by no means a 'Man' or even human anymore- but tirelessly his brain, kept in stasis within the great supercomputer hub of the Enclave's capital headquarters- the 'Mobile Crawler' or, in old US Army terms- the experimental M100 'Land Crusher' HQ.

Superintendent Laslar Sendunn hadn't been inside- much less sighted -the M100 in over a year as operations continuously carried him from one part of the East Coast, to the next, and even over in Nevada and California.

For months he had been backtracking and bouncing between three or four, sometimes six at a time- major operations that the Enclave Army was undertaking. For awhile, there was an effort to get a hold on a cache of pre-War military assets in central North America- it turned out it was a group of USAF tanks -his greatest find in years, and the scientists back on the Capital Rig in the Atlantic were still repairing them.

Laslar had become short of patience- despite the successes. Enclave units in California were on the verge of starting another conflict with the main opposition his men always faced on the West Coast- and that was the New California Republic, the NCR.

-In addition to that, the Brotherhood of Steel had been slogging it out against Laslar's squads for years it seemed in the ruins of D.C., and frighteningly, both sides were running out of ammunition more often than men.

The part that frustrated Laslar was his inability to simply KILL the opposition- both he and his soldiers, and the Knights and Paladins they dueled against were wearing Power Armor -and while the Brotherhood's own T-45 commonality was outdated, it was what it was- Power Armor, and no matter the build, that shit was tough to crack.

Laslar currently was in the newest sewage dump that Eden's priorities were stirring up- the President had a thing for sending more reinforcements to the D.C. capital base of Raven Rock, than say Area 51, or the refueling stations in central North America.

Fighting never ceased in D.C.- whether it was against the Brotherhood, the Super Mutants, or the continuous mobs of 'Raiders' as the native fauna called them, or slavers.

Laslar hurt, not just in any specific limb or set there of- he just HURT. He had been running, ducking, standing and travelling for two days now, and that was because air travel was becoming ludicrously dangerous in some parts of the city.

The Brotherhood controlled the Citadel- the remains of the Pentagon -and all sorts of Laser-based weaponry was installed there, and in the last month or two that it took the Enclave Military to realize the Brotherhood's newest upgrades- at least five VB-02's had been shot down.

The results of this non-stop fighting were showing- Laslar's team had been airlifted by an outdated transport- a pre-War VB-01 Vertibird, the fat whale of the designation's history.

'Upgraded to VB-02 standard' the engineers told him. '-All it's missing are the missile packs. Better bomb load though."

-Which was why Laslar had a screaming match with that guy a few seconds after he smugly finished dragging his theoretical crap-stained palm down the Superintendent's helmet.

The VB-01's had poor armor- they were transport craft, they'd be better off using them as bombers, or material carriers off the front line.

"-We should be holding back the outdated equipment," He said over a holographic command center hub in the M100 two years ago to Eden. "Use it to get the men close, they hustle the short distance with support from VB-02's, and the VB-130's. Eden, you're drying our material up like this."

The mechanical speaker vox, jutting from a static-laced computer monitor unit- considered what he said, and responded curtly.

"And, this is assuming-" Eden's computerized voice came to light. "-That we HAVE the type 2 and 130 Vertibirds, to spare for those counter maneuvers?"

"If we stopped using them for 'High Priority' targets, Eden, we would have nearly a hundred free pieces of equipment."

"I will not waste those assets on these miniscule conflicts in D.C. or the Mojave, OR Nevada. It's not worth it, Superintendent."

"So you'd rather have these perfectly working aircraft ROT in the interior of the Capital Rig? Or in here? The M100? Eden!"

"It's my decision to make, Superintendent."

"And it's MY right to veto it! Eden, MEN win wars- not the tools they use. If we do not stop these wars in the city of D.C., and the bullshit spreading across Nevada, we will not have any men LEFT to operate these machines!"

"Our foes will break with time, Laslar. Break with time they will."

"You're insane. President Richardson knew what he was doing. I can't see that brilliance in you, Eden- not while you have our true hammer gather dust like this."

"Richardson, was a conniving capitalist who got into that office, on that rig, because his pop-pop PUT him there! He was never qualified for a THING he spoke of!" Eden said angrily. "Because of him, we nearly lost ALL of Nevada, we lost a war with the New California Republic! ANIMALS! Tribals throwing their feces at each other!"

"It was Nevada- the giant hill of dirt that it is -or the refueling stations in central USA, and Area 51." Laslar countered. "You can't expect me to hold Area 51 in lesser regard than NEVADA for Christ's sake, Eden..."

"Nevada, is the key!" Eden persisted. "The Divide! The warheads!"

"-That no one can reach, even with air-drops."

"We'll find a way."

"We will. We'll just have lost everything they were meant to improve by the time we do." Laslar shrugged finally. "But you'll have your way, PRESIDENT."

-Even today, years later- that conversation BOILED Lalsar's blood. Boiled it.

His passionate anger worked out in vocal order, too- he barked over to the nearest collection of drab-bronze armor adjacent to his.

"Did anyone see the shot? Origin? Anything, come on, people!"

His left gauntlet, armored arm and pauldron- were leaned against the frame of a bulky pickup truck's rusty remains- before him, divided by the clear street of stained, scorched pavement -three other soldiers clad in Power Armor clenched Plasma rifles over their chest plates.

In the street was the sprawled body of a man he had known as Lieutenant Jakespry- the helmet he wore was punctured through the right eye lens, and the cranium was split open for a crimson gash of ragged, stagnate gore and red globule.

Lying face-down, the titanic suit of Enclave armor was an obvious disturbance in the road from even a mile away- and just the way in which Jakespry was killed, had Laslar on edge.

No Raider or gang goon around here had the marksmanship or the firepower to inflict a casualty like THAT instantly.

It was a Gauss rifle too- Laslar could tell by the explosive reaction when the shell pierced the Lieutenant's lens.

That all added together for either some unheard of assassin or assassin faction that had somehow laid low for all these years- or, that meant Brotherhood. Laslar was betting on the ladder.

"Can somebody pin-point ANYTHING for me? Let's fucking go!"

" _Building straight ahead. Two contacts visible, likely plus chance._ "

"Thank you!"

Laslar cut off the communication vector to the squad's fifth member- Sergeant Luft -who had taken up position in the ruined building that bordered their left flank, directly behind where Laslar faced against the car cover.

Inching the tip of his Tesla helmet over the rim of the pickup truck's hood, he spotted a big fat office building that faced the street they had been trotting down, directly.

"Can we determine type of contacts? Are they scouts?"

" _Negative. One has a Paladin seal on his shoulderplate._ "

"SHIT."

" _Drawing fire?_ "

"Affirmative, Luft- on my mark- General distress call," He switched the vector's frequency. "-Squad Theta Laslar pinned by Brotherhood snipers east of Goldwin Metro tunnel. Respond immediately."

" _Squad Beta-Alpha Ruffous hailing,_ " Came the response from a friendly sergeant. " _East of Goldwin Metro, aye-aye._ "

"Make it quick." Laslar switched back to Luft's frequency, and waved a gauntlet at the soldiers he faced. "-Start shooting, cover us."

" _Yes sir._ "

"Let's go, Theta! MOVE!"

 ** _CLK_**

 ** _CLK_**

 ** _CLKCLK_**

 ** _CLK_**

-Sergeant Luft's Laser Sniper rifle echoed distantly behind him- a few of the red trails could visibly be determined flinging into a window on the middle floor of the office building ahead.

Laslar threw himself away from the pickup, rounded its front- and started sprinting with rumbling footfalls down the street, heart racing.

The three men behind him followed en suit- the rear soldier peppering the office building's direction with a few pot shots from his Plasma rifle.

Laslar knew they probably hadn't done much but keep the apparent Paladin's heads down- but it was enough to provide them a quick sprint to closer cover. On cue- a trail of repeating red flickered from one of the building's windows- an adjacent sill to the one they had shot up -and sprayed sergeant Luft's position in the crumbled ruins he hid in.

"- _Going to cover!_ " He reported tensely. " _Gatling laser!_ "

"Break off-break off! Cover!"

Laslar side-stepped off the road to the left again- behind a wall of collapsed stone and building debris. The three men in his squad found positions hugging a still intact wall that was bracketed from the office building by a turned over passenger bus drawing down the sidewalk.

"Get off the damn road!" Laslar screamed when one of the men started to step out with his gun raised.

"Beta-Alpha, where are you? My counter sniper's been pinned too!"

" _Almost at location- ran into a Super Mutant._ "

"Problem?"

" _-Thing's brought in a few friends._ "

"Fuck!"

" _We're fighting towards you. ETA in five._ "

"I don't HAVE five minutes..." Laslar grumbled, killing the link. "-We still have no air support... Where the fuck's our air-support?!"

" _Sir, am I covering_?" Luft asked through the vox.

"Relocate." Laslar snapped.

" _Aye_."

"I always have to do this by myself..." The Superintendent commented, ejecting the Plasma cartridge in his weapon to check the charge before sliding it back into place. "I'll cover- you three, move up to the pile of cars ahead."

He pointed to the soldiers- they nodded, one gave a 'Confirmed' -pointless mutter, and Laslar raised the most peculiar of customized weapons over the rubble he hid behind.

A 'Tri-Fold Plasma Archer'- the nastiest gun Laslar had ever used -it spat out thrice kicks, and nine bolts of green energy dug into and around the two windows of the office building- the ground rumbled while the three soldiers stormed down the pavement.

Standing from cover- Laslar slowly advanced down the street after them- gun raised, pumping more munitions into the space where the Brotherhood dogs supposedly were hiding.

Right as he started to duck back down for cover behind more debris- a hollow thud echoed from the building, and a chunk of concrete behind him flew out from the road with a tearing grind of soil and dust.

"-Damn it!" He cursed, hearing a whimsical breeze by the side of his helmet from how close the Gauss shell had come to hitting him.

"Alright, Luft- shoot!"

" _Firing._ "

 ** _CLK_**

 ** _CLK_**

 ** _CLK_**

"Squad, advance!"

They had cleared another few feet- and then, one of the glass doors that led to the lower, ground floor of the office building -flung aside, and out stepped a man garbed in silvery, gray T-45 Power Armor, his arms sagging from the grip on a two-handed weapon that was almost as big as he was.

Laslar fumbled on his footing, swung his arm at the soldiers next to him, and started yelling.

"GATLING LASER! GET OFF THE ROAD! OFF THE ROAD!"

 ** _SHSKSHSKSHSKSHSKSHSKSHSK_**

The Gatling laser hissed violently- a trail of glowing crimson cut across the small lot in front of the office building- down the street, and narrowly into the Enclave soldiers.

"-I'm hit!" Someone in the three bodied group confirmed, all three soldiers ducking and back peddling behind a stack of smashed, burnt automobile corpses.

When the Brotherhood Paladin saw his lack of opportunity to kill the regular soldiers- he turned the arch of the laser onto Laslar and his customized Tesla suit.

The refraction fields protecting his armor flickered, and a horrible dent sounded from his shoulderplate as his apparel soaked up a glancing hit from the energy munitions chewing the road up. Laslar pressed his back to a flipped over car's underside.

"-Brotherhood scum!" He cried, waiting for the fire to subsist, he swung over the front rim of the car's underside- and lined up the shot as the Paladin started to back up into the door of the building.

His Plasma Archer fired twice, and six bolts of luminescent green surged forth.

The Paladin's grayed armor grew red- his left arm vanished in a cloudy burst of crimson, tossed debris and chunks of metal. Laslar heard the screaming from where he was- glanced back from cover briefly to observe the Paladin fall with streams of blood curling in the air from the stub of his shoulder.

The gray armored body convulsed and writhed like an earthworm a child had dug up and severed in half to watch.

Pulling back again, he waved his arm forward, and two of the three soldiers stood from their cover to pepper the window where the other Brotherhood member still was hidden. The third man held a burnt welt on his suit's gut, breathing heavily.

Ignoring them- Laslar stood in the center of the road and aimed for the window, when it erupted in a bout of blue fire- tendrils of flame licking out from all the sills nearby and scorching the rims, casting out flimsy, black debris all over.

Lowering his gun, he turned back to see six more individuals stalking down the street behind them- three of them were clad in Hellfire armor, and the leader had an Incinerator held in his gauntlets. Obviously, sergeant Ruffous.

"About time, Beta-Alpha..." Laslar grumbled, watching the burning windows. "I've one KIA and one wounded."

" _Returning, sir?_ " Luft asked through the vox.

"Get back here, we're pressing to the objective."

" _Aye._ "

"Beta-Alpha? Good news, you're being reassigned."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER 14**

 **You'll Break Something with that Attitude.**

* * *

There was a strange resonance that hit between him and the Deathclaw. It hit him, at least- when she screamed at him like a crazy person -made him connect, made him understand a bit more.

They'd been walking through the wastes a whole day now, and, in a weird sense- it felt like they had been walking longer, but not in a bad sort of way.

To Sanford- this being from someone who had a life BEFORE the war, and now had lived in the Wasteland for a good amount of time -this day had been the most frightening experience in his life. BUT, it also had been the most exciting, and the most interesting.

There was a creature- not human, and also not something horrible like a Feral or a Super Mutant- that could communicate, and give its opinion on the world around it.

It was like talking to an alien. It was fascinating, and scary at how fast he became just... USED, to the idea of how the creature's mouth worked when it talked, how it sounded, and what it said.

She- the Deathclaw who would not be named -was an enigma that Sanford had now determined himself to unravel in his lonely life- even if she said she was leaving after today.

The determination was a good source of fuel to keep him moving, active and alert- it was a welcome feeling.

"I don't think we've ever been in here before." Sanford said, craning his helm up to see the edge of the roof shingles of the tall mill building. "Han'? You think?"

"I'd remember a flea-infested dump like this, sir!" Hancock responded. "Nope! Nada! No memory files on this one."

"You ever been in there?" Sanford patted the Deathclaw's thumb, still sticking out from the belly-section of his Power Armor.

"Non'." She curtly answered. "Not recently, monsieur'."

"How long ago is 'Not recently'?"

"A few years ago, I hid from the Enclave here," She said. "I remembered all the industrial equipment. The saws, drills- things as such."

"Too bad none of my welding equipment would work..." Sanford sighed. "-It'd burn your fingers. And me too, probably."

"If your... HOME, is where you say it is- then this is closer anyway."

"I guess you're right. Hey, Han'? Just cover our backs will you?"

"Aye-aye!" Hancock chuckled, raising his ranged-equipped weapon arm.

A flimsy-looking set of double wooden doors were partially ajar down their division center, and led into the dark depths of the mill.

From where they were, they could hear something squeaking- like a metal object hanging from a loose position caught in a draft. Mechanical desolation. It was eerie.

Sanford and Hancock had found some pretty disturbing places throughout their scavenging hauls- remnants of death, places simply marked by evil occurrences, places of loss and lack of civilized life- sometimes ,lacking of ANY life.

The Wastes were an extraordinary place, as well as a terrible one. Beneath the rebirth of civilization in the brighter corners of the world- dark crevices and crags sported nightmares that tread man's worst imaginations.

Again, murder, death and corpses were sights that had been ironed into Sanford's preparedness- as immoral as that sounded, it was fact- but some of the reclusive hideaways he and that stupid robot had found, were places of true malign hate.

There was no law in the Wasteland- if you pissed off someone, they had every right, and every notion to get away with- shooting you dead without a second thought.

Chaos reigned in places where governments or leaders had not been established, and sometimes those governments and leaders simple exacerbated those things.

But people did everything and ANYTHING out here.

Sanford had discovered corpses of people that had horrible, horrible things done to them- dismemberment, mutilation, killers... DID things, to the bodies. Not nice stuff. Not at all.

-Obviously, it was traumatic enough in appearance, that Sanford dreaded those first few steps into dark buildings, or tunnels or crags.

This mill made his heart thud heavily, and breath catch in his throat.

The Deathclaw, though- didn't even bat an eye.

 ** _WHUM_**

-She kicked the doors right off their hinges- sent one skittering into the black a fragmenting pile of woodchips, and the other clattering once or twice before settling- splintered, and cracked.

Dust and tiny particles flew everywhere and the metal hinges ringed away in the stone floor of the mill.

Shaking his head in disbelief- Sanford shrugged at Han' before the Deathclaw tugged her hand again- like prying a dog to follow her -and the two started stepping inside the dark interior of the building.

Reaching up with a gauntlet- Sanford ticked a small knob on the side of his helm's temple- a night vision filter flooded his vision a green tint, and suddenly, the dark wasn't blurring out everything around him.

The Deathclaw's eyes reflected more light than they already did WITHOUT the night vision, IN the night vision- she looked creepy.

Sneering at him, she nodded to what he was doing.

"-Uhm, night vision." He clarified, tapping the little knob with a finger. "Can't see in the dark like you can."

"Uh-huh." She nodded with disinterest.

"Right behind you, Cappy-ton!" Hancock said in a hoarse imitation of whispering behind him in the doorway.

Looking around- he saw the Deathclaw was kind of right.

This was probably either a sawmill at one point, or some kind of metal-working shop. Big cutting drills sat over large, cleared spaces that had scrap parts piled around them- held aloft by industrial gantries connected to box-offices on upper walkway levels.

The inside of the building was pretty big- pretty tall, it had at least two levels of metal walkways connecting to and fro up there. Doors on the lower floor led to what looked like stair cases- Sanford glanced through one to see several work benches and stations inside.

"This place, might actually work..." Sanford muttered, keeping the drum-fed Shotgun he'd acquired from Hancock earlier, in a one-handed clasp.

"I don't know human machinery as you do." The Deathclaw reminded. "I need you to help me find the right tools, monsieur'."

"I'll certainly try... Hey, Han'- start looking around for like a precision las-cutter. Maybe a RobCo model if you can."

"On it, sir!" Hancock vanished in a whoosh of air and lit fuel up, above their heads. He flew through a doorway on the second floor walkway, and vanished.

"What did you say to look for?" The Deathclaw asked, bewildered. "A... 'Las' Cutter?"

"Yeah, they're precision laser drills that metal workers used before the bombs for cutting hard material." Sanford explained. "Might be one in here big enough to fit your hand underneath it."

"I'm guessing there's no other alternative than..." She grumbled. "-I might be FORCED to stay at your side with such a handicap, monsieur'."

"Well, I want to see if there's one here. I'm not going to use it first-thing if there IS one here."

"What do you mean?"

"Let's try lubricant first, or maybe some grease or oil- we might be able to slide your fingers free."

"And if that fails?"

"I could try cutting away the pectoral plates just below the chest plating," He patted a gauntlet by her palm metallically. "-I'll risk damaging the suit if it means neither of us get hurt."

"... I understand these... SUITS, are rare, monsieur'?"

"Yeah. Me and Han' found this one by sheer luck." Sanford frowned. "But... Uhm, hey! If I lose the suit! Then you'll just HAVE to stick around! Right? Me, you, and that mentally degraded dumbass robot."

"-I HEARD THAT, ASSHAT!" -Came from an above doorway, in a slight echo.

"Don't get your expectations high for that." The Deathclaw clenched her teeth tightly. "I'll cut my only weapons off to get away from THAT."

"I know, Hancock's a handful..."

"How do you deal with it?"

"With HIM, you mean?"

"Fine."

"I just do. He's a good friend. Albeit a noisy, socially impaired variant of the world's most adamant capitalist- but ya' know, he's alright past the slight insanity."

"His behavior is tolerable to you because... He supports you?"

"Yep!"

She was still silent when Hancock called back again from up.

"SIR! SIR! Look! I found a Teddy Bear to match my Chef Hat!"

Sanford was speechless as the robot fluttered down from above- the stupid hat placed atop his chassis, his claw excitedly shoving a mildewy, two-hundred year old stuffed animal in his face with gusto.

The sad children's toy flapped around as the Mr. Gutsy held it by the neck scruff.

"I'll name him Sergeant Biggerworth!" Hancock proclaimed.

"My God! You flying trash-compactor, can you take ANYTHING seriously?!"

"It's very serious! Sergeant Biggerworth can be our new logistics manager!"

"You short-circuited electric toothbrush! Gimme' that!"

The Deathclaw already had her face hidden in a tight clenching claw- when a set of bulky, fat feet rumbled a walkway above where the heroes stood.

Green, bulbous, muscular arms raised a cylindrical barrel- and a deep, raggedy voice cried out-

"Go BOOM, humies'!"

 ** _CWWK_**

Sanford raised a brow- turned around with his shotgun aimed, other gauntlet slapping away the bear from Hancock's clasp.

"Oh... SHIT-!" Sanford never finished his sentence- and Hancock never finished his cry of rage at having 'Sergeant Biggerworth' mishandled by the, in quote- 'dumb, vine-swinging simian'- he called a friend.

A splaying hand.

That's what the descending shadow looked like.

-It opened up in mid-air, and a gravitational force of physical entanglement threw all three members to the ground in a dusty rumble.

Hancock clanked across the concrete floor, the Deathclaw growled and hissed in agitation- and Sanford wheezed and gave off a collection of 'Ow!'s from being rattled about in the suit.

Attempting to squirm, Sanford found his gun had been tossed away- he heard a stretching, crackling sound whilst he and his companions struggled. It sounded like...

"-Rope?" Sanford mumbled, leaning forwards with his helmet, and seeing a cris-crossed pattern of lengths covering him, the Deathclaw, and Hancock in a sack-like enwrapping.

They'd been shot by a net-gun.

Holy crap, people still used those?

"-I gawt-em, bahs! I gawt um!"

-Oh... These weren't... PEOPLE, per say.

An ugly, green, fat humanoid pranced out of the shadows like a goon towards them- a makeshift scrap spear held in its bulky fingers, it stopped to stand over the wriggling mess and point at it with the tip of his weapon.

The Deathclaw was snarling- and if now BOTH of her arms weren't straddled, she would've been tearing the net up and eventually tearing the assailants up too.

-Instead, all the three of them could do was watch as several other large upright shadows emerged from the upper levels of the mill's walkway- muscular, hunched and imposing creatures.

Super Mutants.

A whole gang of them.

The one that had netted them was shoved away under the grip of a large, mechanical limb- it looked like something bolted together with car-parts over grids of circuitry, and plastic meshes.

The robotic limb was festooned with human skulls- tied in clumps around a barrel-like forearm with strings laced through eye and nostril holes. A hand made from synthetic fingers gripped the netter's shoulder, and pushed him aside.

"Well, looke' 'ere boys!" A deeper voice rang. "-Thaz' enuff' meat fer' da' week!"

The biggest Super Mutant Sanford had ever seen bent down over the net, and prodded at the rope with his organic fingers, the opposites of the robotic ones on the other arm.

"Dey' gott'a metuul man!"

"Not-good... Not good, NOT GOOD!" Sanford whispered. "-Han'! Do something!"

" _I'm stuck! HELP ME, SANFORD!_ " Hancock responded, muffled. The robot shook violently, and the Deathclaw shifted in a quick jerk from a disturbance underneath where she sprawled. " _THE IGUANA SAT ON ME, SIR! HEEEEELLLLLPPPPP!"_

"BE QUIET!" The Deathclaw barked, bucking her hips back, and giving off a high-pitched metal clung.

" _You just loosened the most aching bolt on my chassis..._ " Hancock reported, suddenly lacking volume, still muffled. " _You should be a back-therapist, birth-defect lady!_ "

"Oh... FUCK you!" The Deathclaw hollered. "Just-FUCK YOU!"

" _-One thing to learn from me, is to NEVER take my sprocket-pump insults seriously, you free-love hippie freak!_ "

"Both of you are just... Unbelievable." Sanford growled.

"I'M UNBELIEVABLE?!"

" _-She's unbelievable?!_ "

"Yeah. Yeah you both are."

"Dese' humies' not right in 'ead." One Super Mutant commented.

"Naht all' humies!" Another added.

"Deffyclaw'!"

"And' robo-peepol'!"

"Can we' eet' robo-peepol'?"

"Lez' fine' out!"

The net sack was lifted, on two sides- by two pairs of green hands, gradually taking the Deathclaw and Sanford higher into the air- while Hancock was unpeeled from the floor mid-rant, squashed between the rope lines and the reptile's back.

"- _HEY! What are you Commie-sucking mothers' doing?! I'll EAT you! I'll eat YOU ALL- You dirty-_ SONS OF BITCHES! I'll find Sergeant Biggerworth! AND WE'LL SKEWER! ALL! OF! YOUR! FACES!"

Sanford just closed his eyes and sighed at the now horrible luck he was having.

The Super Mutants carried the bundled group hammock-style- Sanford's armor groaning and creaking from the weight, the rope pulling, Deathclaw going silent in mourning. Soon, they were outside. Soon, the Mutants were taking them somewhere, probably no better than those places Sanford had been remembering horror stories of.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

The square was divided by a long, story-high arm of rubble that extended out from the blown-open side of a large square commercial structure. Wind howled over the chins of tens of jagged, stone pieces that protruded in ridges and fissures from the cracked concrete at their feet.

Looming shadows of tens of buildings cut off direct sight of the constant gray sky of Maryland- they stood there always, partially translucent to show slivers of sunlight through huge trenches and broken walls across their heights.

Mixed with the tiny breeze was the hollow patter of quite distanced gunfire- as, there was always some kind of hanging ambience to do with that subject near and in the city.

On the other side of that concrete debris was the exact goal that Laslar and his squads had been fighting towards tirelessly for the last few days. A Brotherhood defensive position- safeguarding the farthest western flank towards the gates of the Citadel.

Old United States army barricades, mounds of sandbags and a dug-in trench position behind that were originally put up by the Brotherhood to keep the masses of Super Mutants plaguing D.C away from the less defended 'Walls' of their home.

-Laslar had been intending to strafe the area with Vertibirds- but the recent anti-air installments in the Citadel had made a small-scale aerial attack a less then appetizing proposition. According to the crews that had escaped the Citadel's newest wrath- the Brotherhood had found a trove to wire up.

Autocannons, laser turrets- rumors were spreading around that a group of Brotherhood from the Midwest had shipped over some kind of self-propelled weapon to turn to the skies.

The point was- there was so much flak coming from the Citadel, that Vertibirds were the last thing Laslar wanted to have dropping him off at the streets surrounding. The travels on foot were brutal, and they took casualties- but it was better than ALL of them dying in a single shot for no reason.

Still, Laslar could feel his infamous temper getting the better of him as all his operatives stood around with no real order.

Laslar was used to having commanding officers work with the men he shot the enemy beside- used to having the soldiers working alongside his independent operation possessing some direction.

Here, only sergeant Luft had command seconded to his- Ruffous wasn't fit to take over for both his and Luft's squad- thus, the Superintendent was stuck babysitting, and it pissed him off.

They were the ENCLAVE, the fiercest military organization in the world- the feared 'Boogeymen' that crushed whoever spoke out against them.

-Yet for all those titles, they couldn't even get the war in D.C. sorted out... Laslar still had squads in Nevada, playing frickin' hopscotch with the NCR. This was a train, going down the drain.

He'd considered... DOING something, about Eden, sometimes.

The President was that bad.

Laslar had a good mind to use his position of power to stage a coup.

Eden was going to get them all killed.

Ever since his body rotted away, and they slid his brain inside the computer mainframe, Eden had increasingly used his rank to figuratively go berserk.

"Sergeant Ruffous," Laslar said over his shoulder. "Straight ahead. Set up. Wait for my order."

"Aye-aye." Ruffous responded- rolling his neck, and making the hellfire helmet model creak from the movement. Toting his Incinerator, he and his five men footworked around the huddled bunch of Laslar, Luft, and the two soldiers remaining.

-Two soldiers, and one less than before. Laslar almost took off his helmet and spat on the guy they airlifted out.

'Grazed the gut' they said.

COWARD, Laslar said.

-Laslar had his hand draped past his leg in a one-cap kneel. It flicked back and forth in a twitch he had developed over the years- occasionally, he tried to snap his fingers and, and only met a scrunch of steel as result.

The stress of managing intercontinental warfare, logistics, going into the field and shooting- Laslar had been trained since birth to do so for the glory of the Enclave Military, but even with all that conditioning- he had been doing this for thirty years.

Thirty years ran his nerves raw- he had the damned twitch with his hand, his face was a constant expression of sneering- interacting with his coworkers outside the armor and without a gun grew harder and harder.

Laslar didn't exactly give a hoot what anyone thought of his appearance, or his presentation... But as he watched Ruffous collection of heavy grunts thud across the plaza, he found his jaw clenched tightly.

Looking over at Luft- the sergeant just slipped in a battery to his Laser Sniper rifle, and nodded.

"Sir?"

"Brotherhood's just across the plaza," Laslar said. "We're gonna' flank from the right. Engage, pick off guys out of cover, blow shit up. Ruffous is going to piss on their parade when we start falling back."

"Aye."

"Minimal casualties people- we're four against at least thirty. Follow me."

The last line sounded utterly ridiculous- even to Laslar, and he was the unfortunate schmuck who had to say it.

Eden wouldn't have sent in another asset for a job like this, Laslar and his squads were elite class, and he had taken on three or four times his own number in the past.

The catch with that though- was that those past engagements, he had been able to use extensive guerilla warfare to harry the enemy, screw up supply routes, kill guys at night sort of thing. HERE, he was taking four elite soldiers, and throwing them at a defense line.

It was a problem, of course.

"Cannons." He muttered, all four pairs of powered boots thudding against the cracked pavement around him.

Two of his soldiers had traded out their old armory for airlifted supplies that evacuated their wounded comrade beforehand.

They were bulky, big, shoulder mounted weapons- kind of appearing bazooka-like.

These were the new 'Tesla Cannons' and they had been recently developed from the Capital Rig, and Eden had started sending them out to as many ground battalions as possible.

Luckily by Eden's effort- mainly because the President knew some of Laslar's missions required big guns, and also because he lacked patience to deal with the Superintendent's temper- Laslar had a decent number of Tesla Cannons at his disposal.

The Capital Rig was usually relying on mining operations under the Atlantic Ocean to supply 'Extra Effort' side-expositions such as individual-man gun development- thus, Tesla Cannons, probably in a few years, would start to become scarce.

 _And then we can all question how GOOD they really were..._ Laslar thought.

Cannons arching on the men's shoulders as they jogged- Laslar shoved down heavily with his legs, and jumped as high as the Power Armor allowed- rumbling the earth and sending clatters of dust falling from nearby rubble mounds.

He landed a foot below the level he'd jumped from- giving off a **_PMM_** of landing, cracking the pavement his feet centered.

He moved ahead, and behind him, his soldiers- and Luft -followed.

 ** _PMM_**

 ** _PMM_**

 ** _PMM PMM_**

Forming an archway above their heads- the collapsed face of a skyscraper blocked the sky directly- it extended several feet to act as a 'Roof' to the hideaway the rubble mountains in this section of the city had made.

Watching his step, he found that eventually, the grounded surface they ran down, morphed into not street, but another face of a building.

At one point the marked, broken, and scorched pavement fell away, and the walls of internal structural rooms, layered over each other to create another makeshift route ahead.

This was another 'Fold'-of sorts, from the laid-down building hanging over them.

D.C. had been turned into a hellish world- one flipped, skewered, and taped back together to become a confusing maze of endless corridors, upside-down structures, and blocked doorways. This was how the 'Inferiors' the local fauna- Raider bands and Super Mutants -always reappeared in parts claimed CLEAR, by both the Brotherhood and Enclave.

There were hidden routes of travel everywhere- and nobody had the equipment to close off all the routes they found, and arguably, blowing closed some of these passages would just make NEW ones.

"Watch your step." Laslar grunted over his shoulder. "Stay away from the windows."

"Windows?" Luft joked, sidestepping a cracked pane of glass that fell into a slightly lower square level of the wall.

"I don't know what's below us, or inside these ruins. Don't fall. We won't find you."

The Superintendent reached the edge of their rubble level before the squad did- the guys with the Tesla Cannons having to practically walk around all the obstacles. It just made travel harder.

Laslar didn't have the patience for it.

Leaping down another incline of debris- he landed on the smashed roof of a rusting car- indenting the entire chassis to the point the hood and trunk lifted each a few inches from the ground.

 ** _CCRRRKKK_**

-The noise that metal made when it was wrought in such a way. Horrible.

Laslar stepped down from the vehicle- ignoring the thuds of his allies following.

Divided by a mere few feet of rubble, the smashed bulk of a completely flattened passenger bus- the land dipped down in a hill, and after that was a broken, crater-ridden road that was cris-crossed with the Brotherhood of Steel.

Sandbag piles and walls rounded scrap bunkers- there was a trench that had been dug out right down from one curb to the other in a straight line ahead of the sandbag fortifications- it was supported with wooden struts.

Laslar could identify- whilst he crouched to observe -makeshift anti-grenade defense that was wrung on both sides of the trench, in the form of a tiny mesh fence held aloft by stakes. A field of barbed wire made a small sea before all of that.

As if to add insult to injury, the Brotherhood had set up mines before the barbed wire started, AND in with the wire itself.

The buildings that capped the road on both sides, acted as natural barricades to prevent people from flanking this one-way defense- it forced attacks to funnel in one direction, into the wire and the killing field established by the soldiers garrisoned behind it.

The bunkers had heavy weapons teams in them, no doubt- from the distance, silvery helmed heads and their craniums slithered to and fro inside the trench and behind the sandbags.

"That's not going to be easy." Luft said as he scanned the area with his gun's scope. "In fact, I'll break it now, and say we don't have enough people to go against that."

"Maybe not in an effort to TAKE it," Laslar chimed. "I just want to weaken it. Make it easy pickings for the Super Mutants, or Raiders."

"Shoot and displace?"

"Precisely. You," Laslar pointed at one of the Cannon operators. "-And you," The other. "Stay back. Fire off a shot at both sides of the fortifications behind the trench when me and Luft engage. Relocate, fire again. Sergeant Ruffous?"

" _Aye-aye?_ "

"Once I order the retreat, you and your men fire on the closest bunker until we are clear, understand?"

" _Yes sir._ "

Switching off the communication bead- Laslar jabbed his hand forwards, the soldiers started spreading out.

"Sergeant Luft,"

"Yes sir?"

"You and your man here, take to the left, I'll take right."

"Sir."

Laslar primed his Plasma Archer, checked the battery, and hunched down for a controlled sprint towards the Brotherhood lines.

The Tesla Cannons had better work as good as the egg-heads in the Capital Rig said they did.

Otherwise, they'd all be dead.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER 15**

 **They Took me Home.**

* * *

He was in amazement that even the green, overly muscular mutated freaks, had been able to lift all three of them combined.

Heaven knew how much he weighed in the Power Armor- especially since it was the X-01 model, one of the heaviest -and he didn't even try to figure out how much his reptilian friend weighed. Add in the 150 Ibs or so that Hancock weighed- they were pretty heavy.

As if to speak towards just how brutal they were when it came to physical prowess, endurance, strength- two of the larger Super Mutants simply stepped right up, threw each one end of the net-sack over their shoulders, and toted the entire crew no problem.

The Deathclaw had gone silent in her rantings, her shouts of anger- after a mere few minutes, and Hancock- bless his robotic soul -started TALKING to one of them.

"Wha'ar Commeez?" The Super Mutant carrying from the rear asked stupidly.

"What are COMMIES'?! Only the Red scourge plaguing the world, you sinister Hulk-wannabe!"

"Wrehd skuurj'?"

"Exactly! EXACTLY! You pompous chloroform-sucker! Communists are the bane of democracy, civilization- and anyone who DOESN'T have a pole stuck up their ass!"

"Polle?"

"YES! A pole! A pole, and an ASS! Speaking of- who wants to have THEIR ass kicked?!"

 ** _CLAK CLK CLAK_**

-Hancock must have wormed his Plasma gun to point outside the lines of the net- green bolts flew out, and the Super Mutant he'd been talking to dropped dead with a gaping hole in his head, tossing droplets of glowing goop.

The net tumbled, the Deathclaw cursed in French- Hancock was laughing maniacally, and started explaining how each and every one of the 'Hulk-Wannabes' must have been rebounded off the orphanage steps by their uncaring mothers.

The big leader- the mutant with the robotic arm decorated in skulls- stepped over the corpse of his minion, reached out- and got shot three times in the chest by plasma shots.

"-EAT MY PLASMA, YOU TWIG-CHEWING, DRUG-ADDICTED PAIR OF SOILED PANTIES!"

Sanford had been craning in his helmet to watch the whole ordeal- he wished his gun hadn't been tossed, he would've tried to shoot at the leader too.

The mutant stumbled back with wisps of neon-green cascading from welts drawn into his right breast- the flesh singed and melted, merged with the rags he wore like a coat.

Hancock was even silenced when the mutant head simply grunted off the pain- reached over a second time with his robotic hand, and clenched over something metal with a groaning creak.

 ** _CRK_**

-Then he twisted his fingers, and pulled.

 ** _ccccckkkkk-RRRKK_**

"Shutt' up, robo-peepol'." The Super Mutant stepped away with a bundle of crushed steel and electronics in his bunched fist- gesturing for another of his kind to pick the netting back up.

"Han'?! -What'd he take off?! Han'!" Sanford cried, suddenly panicked as the net was re-lifted by a new carrier.

Hancock was a complete douchebag- but what would he do with himself if that robot got smashed?

"Hancock?! C'mon, talk to me!"

"...That... That, THING, just tore off... mmmmmMMMMYYYY PLASMA GUN!" The buzzsaw started screaming wildly somewhere by Hancock's chassis. "-YOU FATHERLESS CUR! I'LL RIP OUT YOUR LUNGS! AND MAKE MUTIE' PATEE WITH THEM!"

"If they don't break you, I will." The Deathclaw snarled. "-BE QUIET."

"-You know what, birth-defect girl?! I've had enough of YOUR guff too! Sanford! SANFORD! Let's feed her to these tribal-whacks while we make a break for it!"

"Not an option, Han'..." Sanford sighed, relieved, somewhat.

"NOT AN OPTION?!"

"Nah."

"-Screw options! Ooga-booga bitch over there took my frikkin' gun! My GUN! God almighty! I FEEL NAKED!"

"-Han'?"

"-W-WHAT?! OH- I-I know... Y-YOU-! You bastards are going to try and take CLARICE next! AREN'T YOU?!"

"Han'... Oh, Han'?"

"-YOU CAN'T HAVE HER! SHE'S MIIIINNNNEEEE!"

"Han', please shut the hell up."

"I-! I... I'll... I'll do... -Damn it. Damn it all! We're doomed."

"Great, well, be doomed quietly until me and Ms. Deathclaw figure something out."

The Deathclaw wriggled below him.

"Stop calling me THAT."

"Gimme' a name, tootse'."

"What did you just call me, monsieur'?!"

"Then don't complain."

The Super Mutant leader barked a few unintelligible commands, or remarks- whatever the Super Mutants used to demand respect from each other -over to a few of the grunts surrounding him and their new catch.

Craning his helmet to view through the net- Sanford could see they had been taken some distance from the mill- but the land was still wet, the clouds gray and darker from the encroaching end of the afternoon- they were still in the coast.

The mutants had been carrying them for at least a mile or two- it had to be close. Steel girders passed by on both sides of their trek, like pillars in a hallway. Grotesquely, Sanford could note wire bags of heaps of raw, bloody meat tied to and wrapped around several of the sharpened pylons.

Skeletons of humans were crucified on some of the giant pikes that only the Super Mutants could position and carry as such through their massive strength- smaller stakes driven through the earth everywhere had skulls, and even fresh and rotting heads.

The smell was atrocious- the scent of rot, decay, feces and all manner of bodily systems being spilled out and left to become putrid.

They were in the midst of the Super Mutant owned camp, or fort, or area- and those places were always horrid. Sanford knew from his earlier scavenging years of stealing from mutant compounds.

While Sanford grimaced beneath his helmet- the constant hammock-like swaying to and fro in the net jolted, and became quick. The Super Mutants carrying them huffed, and suddenly, the three of them were falling.

The Deathclaw made a gasping sound, and Sanford cried out briefly- before their voices were cut short, and they made contact with the dirt in a dusty puff, and metallic clank as Hancock took the brunt of the fall.

"-AGH! Man down!" Hancock garbled. The Deathclaw splayed a bit more, and his speech became muffled. "- _MEDIC!_ "

"-Oof! -AH- H-hey! Wait one' sec'!" Sanford struggled to tug his arms at the lines of the net. "-Both of-AH-Hey!-Both of you-STOP!" He barked.

The Deathclaw was heaving, she stilled- and Hancock just didn't do anything all together.

"Calm down! We're gonna' get outta' here! We'll kill EVERYTHING, and we'll fix our problem!" Sanford listed off, shifting underneath the Deathclaw's enwrapping arm over his waistline. "-Understand?"

"Monsieur'," The Deathclaw huffed tiredly. "-I HATE you."

"Thanks."

"I just want you to know that right now... I HATE you."

"So glad to be of freaking service... Now, hold on just one... Minute..."

Gazing around, Sanford could see they had been dropped in a pit several feet deep- there was a square opening above them, and there was darkness surrounding the level they lay in.

It was like they were in an underground cell of sorts.

These mutants were sick.

Sanford tried to squint, and got bucked when the Deathclaw shifted in her position again. Becoming annoyed at the claustrophobic squeeze- he was aware that it was first priority to un-tether them. THEN, they could talk about the environment.

Sanford tested both of his arms in their respective gauntlets- found one to be less stiff then the other -and started worming it, angling his helmet down to watch with lines he had to work with.

The net shifted, Hancock's chassis squeaked, Sanford grunted- a rope tore, and his plated gloved hand was held before his visor- he flexed his fingers.

"Ha! Hey, guys! I got an arm free."

"That's brilliant, monsieur', very brilliant..." The Deathclaw purred sarcastically. "-AHEM?"

"Jeez', I said I'd figure it out, tootse', give me a second..."

"-You little- I'll let them eat you, monsieur'."

"Uh-huh."

Sanford blinked over the activation rune within his internal HUD of the helmet, towards the small Tesla couplings that he had wired into the knuckles of his gauntlets. They were originally intended to help in a melee situation- but if it fried the netting, that would be good too.

Inching his arm down, he worked the crease of his knuckle over one of the net's lines- and heard a sizzling snap.

 ** _WHK!_**

-The rope flicked in two, a small pillar of steam coming from the material.

Sanford grinned, looked up at the entrance of ringing soil above their heads- and started getting his knuckle's joints to hover over another line.

 ** _WHK!_**

"I'll have us out soon..." He muttered.

 ** _WHK_**

 ** _WHK_**

"So, birth-defected iguana," Hancock said as Sanford continued breaking them free. "How's crimes?"

"Please short-circuit yourself."

"I love you too! -Sir? Can I set HER on fire?"

"I'd like to see you try, robot."

"BIGOT!"

 ** _WHK_**

"Both of you, please stop- you'll attract their attention..." Sanford chided quietly, eyes narrowed at the netting.

"This sucks." Hancock stated.

Another line snapped, and the crushing confines of the netting relaxed a bit.

The Deathclaw sighed when her legs became less held together- she draped a bit, feeling horribly uncomfortable at having the socially impaired robot jutting into her spine underneath her.

She arced her head as far it could go in all directions- to get some idea of where they were.

It looked like a small stone, square cell surrounded them in the dark- a mesh grate of black bars, really thin ones- acted as a sort of makeshift cage of four walls around the base of where the dug out pit above dropped to.

The Super Mutants had probably found an old basement and had sealed the regular entrances- dug a hole that lead to it from the top -and turned it into a meat-locker for cattle. Disgusting.

Flicking her tongue to test the air- she reclined in horror at the smells she picked up.

"Monsieur'? I'm cramping here."

"-Almost there..."

"-So is Christmas, sir!" Hancock interrupted. "I'm gonna' lace these Mutie's holiday cards with anthrax!"

"If you both just shut up, I'll be done quicker..."

 ** _WHK_**

The net unfurled like a blooming flower- Sanford rolled off the Deathclaw to the side, taking her arm with him towards the ground- he flung up his armored palms, caught his fall before managing flattening the creature's wrist under himself.

Grunting from the tumble- there was a hollow thud of steel, the Deathclaw stopped her own fall by slapping a claw over Sanford's back- Hancock flew out from underneath her with a blast of fire.

"-I'M FREEEE-!"

The Deathclaw was nudged forwards when the rest of the torn netting was sucked out from under her- Hancock appearing as a shining, miniature comet with a flailing, translucent curtain of multi-layered rope trailing behind him.

The robot surged forwards, still screaming of his new freedom, and then, ironically- he hit the black bars that made the makeshift cage around them.

 ** _CLUNG_**

"-APHF!" Hancock flattened against the bars, indented a sphere-like protrusion into the cage's side, and crumpled down from the impact after an all-too perfect moment of levitation within the metallic buff he had made.

It sounded like a pile of tin cans was collapsing- the Mr. Gutsy sprawled out with all his arms across the ground, one eye-lens lifting slowly to examine the damaged bars.

"-T-They have... Anti aircraft fiiirrreee... SIR." He reported dutifully.

"Holy Christ, you okay?" Sanford asked the Deathclaw.

"FINE." She frowned, pushing off his back. "Stand up, monsieur'."

As the human adjusted a full stand to compensate for her wrist, subsequent arm still hooked into his gut- he looked up at her taller head to see her fuming with a sneer.

Clenching her jaw, the reptile blinked at him, and nodded at the mess Hancock had made of himself.

"So, your plan?"

"...They put us in a metal barred cage?" Sanford asked, looking around both shoulders, and then at Hancock. "Wow. Super Mutants really are stupid."

"-YEP! I'm PERFECTLY fine, sir! THANK YOU for asking!" Hancock barked from the floor.

"Oh you're fine... It's not like you rattled your central processor."

"-And you just KNOW that, right, sir?!"

"You're still talking. It's still functioning."

"A comedian!"

"A RobCo-smart person, more so... And, hey- on the positive, you earned us our way out."

Sanford nudged the Deathclaw forwards with an angle of his hips- he trotted towards where Hancock lay in a jumbled mess, the reptile- annoyed -following with her arm stuck out and half hugging his side.

Taking both his gauntlets- Sanford held the center two, dented rungs in the indent his deranged robot had created- wrapping his fingers, he started pulling in opposite directions. Heaving from the effort, one of them- whether Hancock or the Deathclaw -was about ready to call it quits on the attempt.

However Sanford wouldn't be defeated so easily- he kept pulling, the arms of his suit quivering.

A moan of flimsy metal, and then-

 ** _CRK!_**

-The bars jerked apart, forming a space Sanford could fit his head through.

The Deathclaw went wide eyed, and leant forwards to give the human more leverage with her stuck arm.

"-I- I GOT it-!" Sanford struggled. "-Just-ONE more-"

 ** _CRRKKkrrrkrkk_**

The Power Armor croaked loudly- he stumbled a single footfall out of the breach- but overall, the job was done perfectly. There was an angular gap he had split the bars into- it was enough for his un-armored torso to fit through.

Growing bold, Sanford clenched the bars of the lower chin of the breakage he'd made- and pulled apart.

 ** _CRK! Crkrk_**

The gap was now as tall as he was, disgorging the black shadows of the room into the cage's center- illuminated by the mere sheen coming from the square hole above.

Giving into a quick bout of compulsiveness- Sanford reached down and tugged the lower sections of the bars further, reaching around Hancock's chassis. Standing back, he rung his knuckles on the rounded flank of the robot's body, becoming less than musing.

"-Alright, Han', we're clear. No more of... You know- THIS."

"I'll play dead if I WANT to!"

"Get up."

"NEVVA'!"

"Fine, we'll leave you- come on, Deathclaw."

Ducking through the torn bars, Sanford did his best to keep the gut section of his armor presented towards the reptile so she could keep up- her taller form forcing a hunched-over dip through the opening of the cage.

"Good?" Sanford asked.

"Fine." She hissed.

Glancing around the chamber, Sanford spotted all kinds of broken shipping crates, barrels- mounds of garbage layered the floor, and a stone staircase lead to a dark corridor several feet higher than their current level.

Pointing at the small flight- Sanford patted his palm on the Deathclaw's upper thumb.

"Check it out- that's our ticket."

"It's probably trapped." She reminded.

"Of course it is," Sanford laughed. "-Han', stop being a Communist and get out of the cage."

"-WHATDIDYOUCALLME?!"

The robot flew out like a projectile missile from the torn opening in the cage- was at Sanford's side, and was poking him with the edge of his inactive buzzsaw.

"I AIN'T NO RED!"

"Uh-huh- cover our backs, will you?"

"I oughtta'..."

Pebbles flecked down from the square opening above the cage. There were voices- deep ones.

"-'EY! Whare da' oomie go?!"

"I dunno!"

"Boss is' gunna' get angree'!"

"I have idees'!"

"Gud' finkin'!"

Sanford blinked, and flinched when a loud, metallic clap sounded from the floor behind the bars.

An object- highlighted in a sheen of white from the small light above- descended in a rock-hard fall from above, clattered off the stone ground once, and settled in a final two-fro rock against the cage's back wall.

Egg-shaped with fins jutting from its back- the metal device started making sounds.

 ** _WIIM_** \- a group of servos whined.

 ** _CLK-CLK_**

Sanford narrowed his eyes at the rounded thing the Super Mutants above had let into the underground cell- took a step to start working around the Deathclaw's flank.

"I don't like that, monsieur'..." She warned.

"Umm... SIR, the Communist has some really crappy news for you!" Hancock startled. "NOT GOOD!"

"But, what is-" Sanford's speech was interjected by a digital repeating pattern.

 ** _CLCK-CLK_**

 ** _BEEEP-BEEEP-BEEEP-BEEEP-_**

-A red flare bloomed and grew dark again and again from the object's top.

Sanford's jaw dropped.

"Oh... My GOD."

"There's the bad news, sir! Now- we should flee! And flee fast!"

"What is he talking about, monsieur'?"

Sanford reached over, and wrapped his metal arms over the Deathclaw's midsection.

"RUUUUNNNNNN!"

-In a jumbled mess, the trio rolled and stumbled up the flight of steps, the Deathclaw cursing her chops off, Sanford still screaming, and Hancock starting to rant about how fate was a conniving, promiscuous woman.

The miniature warhead, then, at ironic cue- detonated.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

When the actual drive of the equipment was charged and primed for usage- it made a tiny whirring sound, like a small drum that came off as a miniaturized thrum of a spinning rotary blade. The gun ran off of specialized 'Slugs' created to be chambered with each blast- so it was critical, as, seeing they only had four per man -that each shot count.

The Tesla Cannons were big, bulky, unforgiving weapons that would prove either completely useless, or self-destructive in the hands of a non-Enclave trained soldier- and there was also the debate, that they would prove useless even WITH a trained Enclave soldier.

Laslar was aware that this fight about to be engaged, was one of tens currently playing out in the Enclave's many wars that would make or break the production line of the Tesla Cannon.

He stood, stonefaced- seeing the small forms of the Tesla operators staying behind in their original position, waiting for the go-ahead when he and sergeant Luft engaged the Brotherhood defense line.

Taking an extreme risk- he peered above the pile of debris he pressed to, to observe the fortifications a final time- seeing the armored bodies of Brotherhood soldiers hunkered down, and idly strolling about like the overconfident bastards they were.

Grinding his teeth- he waited for three other 'Confirmation Blips' set up in the HUD of his Power Armor's helmet to light green, instead of red. All of the individual units he had established- the two men with the Cannons, Luft and his rifleman, Ruffous and his heavies- would get proper positioning, before setting their ticks to green.

The Cannonmen were at green- and soon, Luft's signal turned green too.

The plan was that Laslar would draw fire from one side, and Luft from the other at the trench that was dug before all the Brotherhood defenses.

Once engaged, the Tesla Cannon wielders would fire into the fortifications, and Laslar and Luft would buy time retreating for them to relocate and fire again.

It wasn't perfect by far- Laslar was working with limited resources, and the losses here would not only prove crippling locally to his own intentions if they occurred, but the assets going INTO those losses, would also be permanently extinguished.

They were deep in D.C.- there WAS no recovery of bodies here.

The armor and weapons were lost with the man here a lot- the constant fighting made scavenging and recovery nigh impossible.

So, with a heavy breath- Laslar saw Ruffous and Luft ping green, and he grabbed his communication's bead.

"-Go! Fire!"

-He then stood, and aimed over the relatively bumpy- yet singularly leveled -terrain, at the closest exposed silver-armored THING he could find.

There was a Knight standing rather high from inside the trench.

Laslar shut one eye, and fired.

 ** _CLAKCLKCLK_**

-The tri-shot Archer loosed off a concentrated trio of green blobs- and even from his distance, Laslar could make out the Brotherhood man's head popping like an overgrown zit.

With everything above and between the shoulders eviscerated- the Knight crumpled down, arms rigid at the corpse's hips.

" _Incoming fire!_ " -Someone distantly shouted from the Brotherhood lines.

Laslar cursed, ducked, and was graced with the repeated hissing and slacking kicks of tens of bullets being sprayed all over his position. He heard everything- assault rifles, rifles, heavy guns- it sounded like one of the Brotherhood had a minigun.

Fire chewed up the debris above his head and by his shoulder- Laslar heard a tumbling **_clak-clkck-clk_** -amid all the impacts, and looked down in horror at a yellow-highlighted, gunmetal-colored ridged device that rolled to settle right where his boot was.

"SHIT-!" He screamed out of reaction- wrapped his fingers over the grenade's side, and hauled it in a long arc toss over his head.

 ** _BMMM_**

-Dust and pebbles flecked from ahead of him as the grenade went off.

"LUFT! Your end?!" Laslar called into the communication uplink.

" _Suppressed! Wounded!_ "

"How bad?"

" _Forearm. Flesh-wound- still able!_ "

"Stay down! -Tesla Cannons, FIRE!"

In the distance one of the operators stood to his full height, aimed the great gun from the shoulder.

Laslar saw a flash of light- and a blue arc of shining energy scythed through the air, and cut somewhere above the skyline directly over his head.

 ** _WVVVVMMMM_**

-The Cannon made a distinct cry- and unseen directly by Laslar- punched into an array of sandbags with a brown-bloomed flower of smoke, sparks, brief licks of flame- the crescent of sandbags and the group of Brotherhood behind it vanished in a burst of dirt and soot.

Laslar heard the impact from where he was, smiled at the actual proof of people in the Capital Rig doing their damned jobs- he saw the other Cannon wielder fall one-kneed beside where the other had shot.

 ** _WVVVVVMMM_**

-The arm of blue light punched clean through one of the scrap bunkers- making an orange highlighted crevice that tore into the front face of the structure, went inside, and made the entire bunker implode from the inside out.

 ** _PMMMMM_** -The explosion was so tall, that when Laslar looked at the sky from behind his ducked cover- he still saw the top tip of the fiery burst's receding bubble.

"-AH! It's beautiful!" He laughed.

The Cannonmen had already vanished from their first position, relocating somewhere. The fire peppering Laslar's position faltered in the aftershock of the twin massive explosions.

Standing, he aimed out of cover, and fired the rest of his battery into the trench-line- not taking the time or precision to see if he actually wounded or killed anybody.

Laslar sprinted back the way he came, winding between upraises of rubble and broken cars to avoid any shots hitting him in the back. The refractor field generated from his armor flickered once, and he kept swinging his arms and legs frantically.

He heard Luft barking something about falling back- but Laslar was too overdriven to process it.

He swung behind a car, crouched, changed his gun's battery- and aimed over the hood.

Some of the Brotherhood were still standing out of the trench's top- he saw one, took a second to aim, and loosed off two bursts.

The green blobs pattered and flickered in kicks of dirt and sparks all around the Brotherhood soldier's gut- and since Laslar was carrying probably the most potent anti-infantry rifle on the field here -the improved systems of his Archer let the plasma eat through.

The man's gun flung away, he wrapped his forearms over his midsection and rolled down into the trench.

"Cannons?" Laslar cried into the mic.

" _Ready._ "

" _Ready._ "

"Fire!"

 ** _WVVVVMMMM_**

 ** _WVVVMMM_**

-Two more mushroom clouds of fiery dirt and soot formed plumages from the Brotherhood fortifications.

"Ruffous! Cover us! All units, fall back!"

" _Affirmative, firing._ "

Spheres of blue flame flew over his position like a swarm of meteors- two red trails of laser rounds cut overhead, and the steaming trail of a missile contoured the tannish gray sky.

Laslar ran for his life- and the whole time, before he reached the outskirts of the plaza, and rung around the large, fallen wall of rubble Ruffous and his men used for cover- he was LAUGHING.

The Tesla Cannons worked.

That was hopeful.

It was the best god-damned thing he had seen in months.

Compressed to the wall of rubble- he watched the men to test this theory round the bend, and stand before him, panting, armor scuffed and scorched, heads hung, Cannons draped over shoulder plates.

Sergeant Luft appeared from the east eventually- standing atop a mound of rubble that bordered their position from an array of skulking skeletons of buildings in the backdrop. He held his one arm limp, the other a Plasma pistol in clasp.

"I think we're clear, Superintendent!" He called.

"Where's your boy?" Laslar replied.

"Dead." Luft said when he hopped down to their level on the street- cracking the pavement. "We need to go."

"Alright, Ruffous, fall back!"

The heavies backed away from their firing positions behind the slabs of concrete and torn piles that they had started and hid from- weapons still blazing.

The Brotherhood, interestingly, did not pursue when they ran clear through the open plaza, and back towards the streets they had emerged from to mount the assault.

-But Laslar didn't particularly care.

The Tesla Cannons worked.

And that made him very, VERY happy.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER 16**

 **Bullets for Everybody.**

* * *

It had been almost a decade for him personally- and, with the actual amount of passage to all but himself- it was two-hundred years, also easily explainable- as a very good amount of time to distance himself from the past.

It had been years and years and YEARS- but Sanford Tobs never forgot the sound of that explosion.

The hollow clack- the atmosphere shifting, the sky darkening, and then growing so bright that it was not possible to comprehend with mortal eyes. One of the largest man-made engines of destruction that did not even touch down anywhere near him, that influenced him so greatly.

The nuclear fires washed right over his head, sure- the destruction and the chaos that ensued also washed right over his head, yeah... But that explosion... It may not have burned itself into his retinas permanently, but it burned itself in his mind, and it would not leave until the day he died.

Only two times-

-Well... Now, in this moment... Only THREE times-

-Had Sanford been reminded and sent to flash backs on the horrible event that almost exterminated humanity, and rendered him fearful of the reality to atomic war.

The first nightmare Sanford had ever had of the event left him suffering insomnia for a week, and he had actually wet himself in his sleep- Hancock was not with him, and Sanford was up those nights alone, shivering, holding two or three guns in the sheets with him at all times.

That was number one- the nightmare, the first one. Sanford would never forget that either. It had felt real, and it terrified him.

Number two- the second to most recent.

The eyes of the Deathclaw he was now stuck in arms with, literally. The bright hue of them, the shine of the midday sun against their rounded girth- Sanford had never before been exposed to such a vibrant physical reconstruction of that explosion.

The dream was merely a vision to him by this point- the Deathclaw, and her eyes... Sanford couldn't stop thinking about it.

Finally, number three- the MOST recent.

The concentrated atomic blast that bloomed from the miniature warhead a pair of Super Mutants had dropped into the prison cellar they were hiding in.

-Oh yes, this was no lie, or fib, or tall tale.

Sanford would've laughed hysterically at his own facial expression- his reaction, if he had been able to see it, and the situation hadn't warranted his running as fast as humanly possible up the sketchiest flight of steps you could find in some old pre-War ruins.

"-RUUUNNN!" Sanford screamed at the top of his lungs. "HOLY FUUC-AGGGH!"

He hadn't been able to finish that tirade.

 ** _BBBBBMMMMMMMMMMMMM_**

 ** _-WSSSSSSSHHHHHH_**

-A blinding light plumed behind them- it eviscerated every shadow in the staircase, highlighted every tiny groove and nook in the stonework. Heat and wind flushed air and its presence over their backs and shoulders- even through Sanford's Power Armor- though, the same couldn't be exactly said to the shoulder-less Hancock.

Whatever the case for the robot was in turn- all Sanford heard next... Was nothing.

White noise.

A constant ring in his ears.

He saw white and then instantly switched to pitch black.

A gravitational force that he had never experienced, ever- even through all the times he had been tossed back by explosions, or thrown from his feet by some natural effect- swept him, the reptile he had wrapped in his arms, and the robot- forwards.

Sanford felt rough bucks and jerks- still deaf to it all -as he and his crew were thrown UP the stairs, instead of down them.

Pain flared in his left arm- rough, and like something was bent wrong. A weight was not compressed- but rather relieved from his chest, he felt his body rattle and move more fluently within the mobile tin-can he had been walking around in.

Time was unending.

As a sanctioned end to it all, to end the UN-end- Sanford's hearing came back, right as he heard a loud, echoing, thud of his armor meeting gravel and dirt.

 ** _PWFF-BMM_**

-"AGH!-OOF!"

 ** _PWMM_**

-"SONOF-"

 ** _PMM-_**

-"-A-"

 ** _PWMMBMM-BMM_**

-"BITCH!-OW!... Ow... Ugh..."

His head swam, there were tens of spots all over his body where an echo of pain combined with weightless numbing was overriding his normal senses- he draped on the frontal internals of his suit weakly, quivering.

The explosion had cleared out the inside of the underground structure- what rubble had been strewn about, was now added to with the crumbled remains of the stairwell they'd taken, the concrete walls and even chunks of the ceiling.

Sanford was too dazed from the shellshock to determine where he was, or how the explosion had tossed him to this mysterious locale- he also didn't know how it was possible that he was lying on his belly, seeing as his scaly friend was supposed to be there, under him.

Two things snapped Sanford out of his stun.

-One, he was on his belly, on his face... Where was Ms. Deathclaw-angry-pants?

-Two, it was awfully quiet, and that meant that his robot wasn't ranting, so... Where was Hancock?

Where was HE?

"-F-Fwabaubub... Bul... OAGH..." -No, he wasn't drunk- but, Sanford sounded like he was when he tried to speak, to call out for either of his teammates.

He pressed his gauntlets into the flooring beneath him- started to rise off the chest of his suit with crinkling crumbs of plaster, dirt and pebbles- the metal groaned, and there were tiny alarms screaming in his HUD within the helm.

"-AWGh...Agh...-H-Han'... Han...! HANCOCK! YO!"

He heard nothing, and, as he sat up on his knees- Sanford realized he also had another bodily sensory problem besides the pains, in addition to not hearing his friends.

He couldn't see anything. All he saw was black.

The explosion, he realized, had blinded his retinas.

"-O-Oh, crap... Crap-crap-crap-CRAP..." He panicked, stupidly fumbling about his helmet's visor lenses with his fingers- he jabbed his gauntlets about his head, and slouched back with a defeated growl.

As he knelt on the floor, he reached about by where the Deathclaw's wrist was supposed to be- letting his mind wander, he paused before his gauntlet actually got close enough for contact when he considered what he would find down there.

...What if the reason she wasn't stuck to him anymore was because of tearing force? What if all that was down there was like her wrist or something? He'd throw up, no doubt- and that would mightily suck, seeing as he was wearing headgear.

"...Oh God..." He muttered- braving chance, and slapped his palm downwards.

There was a clank of steel, a hollow thrum- he made contact with nothing but the metal of his suit's abdomen. There was no blood, no mushy remains, nothing. He felt around with his fingers, feeling around the bent, and folded gashes that were dug into the suit.

Sanford jumped when one of his gauntlet's tapped against the shirt underneath his regular armor padding- the stuff he wore INSIDE the X-01 exoskeleton. The ragged welts where Ms. Deathclaw's nails had run him through were still there, still making a breach in his protective carapace.

Fumbling about himself- he started to bend to and fro, spiraled around in scrabbles on the ground- he tossed rocks away and chunks of rubble- searching for a gun, searching for anything.

"-Holy shit... Holy shit I can't see... I can't FUCKING see!" He ranted to himself- afraid to start calling out for Hancock or the Deathclaw- in fear of the Super Mutants, and wherever they were, and how much closer they'd get to him if he got loud.

He thought he found a weapon at some point- his gauntlet's wrapped over a long, rectangular object that made a plastic clatter on the stones around it.

He froze, slowly wrapped his fingers around it- trying to be careful to avoid parts like the trigger or the safety, or something that would cause the weapon to go off, potentially in his face- and armor or not, he had a breach in his abdomen, and the joints weren't resistant at close range.

Sanford smiled in hopes- felt down the long piece- and discovered with some feeling about, that it was nothing more than a board of plaster.

Plaster.

No gun.

No protection.

Bad luck, man.

"FFFFFUCK!"

He threw it away in anger.

If he stayed here, he was dead- and if he called out, he would either be dead, or one of his friends would hear him.

Either way, if he did nothing, he was dead anyway.

"-DEATHCLAW!" He called. "HAN'! ANYONE!"

"...-Monsieur'? W-Where are you?"

"-Oh, thank Christ... I-I'd never expected to find such... BEAUTIFUL solace in your weird Frenchness, Ms. Deathclaw!"

"Shut your mouth, freak," There was a crumbling of rocks, movement straight ahead from him- higher in level. "-There you are... Get up here, monsieur'."

"-I-I... I can't!"

"Dieu Tout-Puissant'-! -There is NO. TIME!"

"-I can't see!"

"...W-What... What do you mean you can't see, monsieur'?!"

"-T-The blast-" He rapidly knocked his knuckles on the temple of his helmet. "-I-I'm fuckin' blind! I can't see!"

"Oh non, ce n'est pas bon... Non-non..."

The Deathclaw lost herself in a worried torrent of French as she slid down what Sanford presumed an incline in the land and rubble before him.

He shifted when a big, burly palm wrapped around his head, and jerked the helmet back.

Grunting in discomfort, he cried out in surprise when the helmet flew off his head- and cold breath washed off his forehead.

"-Non'... N-No no... You can't be blind, monsieur'... You can't be blind!"

"...I-I got news for you-" He stuttered. "-I can't even make out your pretty little face r-right now..."

As if the test the theory, she swung her claws right in front of his face- just to see if he would flinch- and the tri-set of metal-rending nails flew past his nose without any kind of reaction from him, she quivered in panic.

"Oh no, oh no..." She kept repeating the same mumbles to herself.

"...L-Look, it can't be permanent... I-I didn't look directly in-into the blast..."

"W-Will it go away? Will you see again? Recover?"

"...I-I don't know... Usually, y-you have to wait for stuff like this..."

"We can't WAIT, monsieur'!"

"...Where's H-Han'?"

"I don't know, I didn't see it."

"-HIM."

"Him- fine, HIM... I didn't see him!"

"...W-Where are we?"

"...Uhm..." The Deathclaw huffed, looking about. "-T-The blast kicked us out the stairwell... Uhm... Crater of rubble, uh... The entrance, the- what do you call it? B-Basement, doorway?"

"-Yeah?"

"It's right behind me, and I can see the Mutant's campsite above that... Distant, they're coming for us, I can hear them."

"...A-And... Are you free?"

The Deathclaw made a sigh- flexing her free claw, glancing to the tear in his suit.

"...Yes. Yes, monsieur', I am."

"...T-That's good..."

"I'll carry you."

"Why do... Why do you care, huh?" Even though he was joking hopefully- the Deathclaw still got very animated with him.

"-WHAT?! How could I NOT, you debile' merde?!"

"...Y-You can carry me...?"

"...Oh, for the love of heaven..." **_FWHM-BUMM-BM_** "-HMMF'-Can I carry him'- he asks..."

"-WOA!-H-Hey! C-CAREFUL!"

"Shut up and-MMF-hold ON!"

The Deathclaw tossed the armored human over her shoulder like a ragdoll- the big, bulky plates making the suit's construction thudding about with enough weight, that the awesome physical strength of her body actually felt decent resistance.

She bent down with a gruff bout of hisses- picked up his helmet, and shoved it loosely over his head, like placing a cap on a bottle half-heartedly.

Her shoulder was forced downwards under the armor's girth- she huffed a blast of air from her chops- her hearing picking up on the increasing volume of a collection of sounds, that had followed her in her seeking of her companion.

The explosion was like a giant wad of cheese being laid out for a swarm of rats- the Super Mutants were gathering out of the campsite in their direction.

She'd been hurled further down from the explosion than Sanford- and that partly had to do with her not wearing some bulky exoskeleton.

From the quick glances she'd gotten- there had to be twenty of them, at LEAST- and they were spearheaded by that partially mechanical freak they were calling their chieftain- and the boy looked awfully angry.

Readjusting finally under Sanford's weight- he started to blubber out some kind of apology, and she just planted the palm of her left claw into his helm with a tiny **_THWK_** \- to shut him up.

One of the green colored hulking mutants was just stepping atop a raise in the terrain up ahead- he was holding a hunting rifle of some kind- pointing his finger at her direction, before leaning forwards with the iron sights of his weapon training.

"Merde'..." She cursed- her head rushing with the velocity of how fast her own legs started to carry her.

The biogenetically engineered muscles in her body were on overdrive- they worked flawlessly- and if humans were prone to being unable to keep up with her speed, she could only imagine the havoc it played with the feeble motor-skills of the Super Mutants.

With Sanford dangling and bouncing around over her shoulder- in single file, rounds flecked off every object or surface she ran past- ducking between rocks, behind the folding arch of a cragged piece of stone from the ruins.

The Super Mutant ran dry, and was still reloading by the time she was out of his weapons range, and his friends were closing in behind him.

The Deathclaw leapt clear over the folded, rusty remnants of a car chassis- landing with a stumble in her otherwise perfect clarity of grace- dust flew in belches from her heels eating into the dirt.

"-O-OW-ow-OW-!" Sanford's speech sounded cut with every hop or footfall she made. "-H-h-Hey-HEY!-I-I- c-C-can s-See-a-A-little!"

"Absolutely BRILLIANT!" She panted, side-stepping a broken tree stump. "-Now shut up, monsieur'! Running! Need to concentrate!"

"C-c-Concen-t-trate-o-ON-R-r-running?! W-Why?"

"Because I'm good at it!"

"-H-h-Hu-huh... W-wh-why?"

"BECAUSE IT'S ALL I DO! SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

 ** _BMM_**

-A blast of light bleached the air around them with a fleck of torn soil and cracked pebbles.

Some kind of controlled explosion ate a small crater right beside their position- missing the Deathclaw in such a proximity of closeness, that she felt heat wash over her ankles.

"-S-sh-SHIT-!" Sanford stumbled. "-W-What-W-WAS-T-T-that?!"

"DON'T KNOW!"

From the Super Mutants' perspectives- the two of them were getting smaller and smaller as the reptile continued her wild sprint, unmatched , and unparalleled in her speed still after all these years.

No one could catch her- not the technologically advanced soldiers of the Enclave, not any Raider or human marauder group- not the Super Mutants and their ability to tank massive guns around at will. -And in addition to all that angering the mutant chief- that last bit really ground his gears.

The Super Mutant chief had worked ahead of his fodder in a flanking maneuver- he rolled his wrinkled, green jaw from where he stood atop the bent, and cracked hood of an ancient eighteen-wheeler's front chassis.

Adjusting his stance with pressing boots- his mechanical arm whirred as the bionic fist curled over a grenade round by his belt- tugged it loose, and shoved it in a bulky, fat, and rounded weapon with faded drab paint and a white army star.

Once upon a time, it had been a standard issue United States Army infantry grenade launcher- but now, two hundred years later- there were so many bionic rib attachments, plates, and hull pieces bolted together all over it- that it was a shadow of its former sleekness and compact nature.

The Super Mutant chieftain shoved the new round in a foldable stock compartment- shut it, and aimed the elongated, copper barrel at his targets again.

"STUPID LIZARD!" He bellowed. "EAT THIS!"

 ** _FWM_**

-The hurled grenade popped from the barrel, and started to sail towards them.

The Deathclaw had just hopped down from another large rock- and looked up just in time to see the black blotch descending on them faster than she could track.

"MERDE'." She snapped. "Merde'-merde'-MERDE'!"

"-What the hell does that even mean?! -And... And why did we stop? W-What happened?!"

"My LIFE happened! My God-damned, LIFE-!"

 ** _BMMM_**

-The blast was pathetic in comparison to the detonation of the warhead from before, the reason Sanford was blind- but, the shrapnel flew, dirt was torn from the ground, rocks were dislodged- and a bubble of florescent, glowing fire bloomed right in her face.

The explosion knocked her off her feet- Sanford cried out and slid off her shoulder- she twisted sideways, and fell on her right arm and hip, fumbling about the ground, hissing from sudden pain.

It felt like a hundred stinging insects had flew directly into her like a wave- when she settled on the ground, shaking her head, spitting dust from her chops- she felt wet warmth veining from her legs and body.

She blinked dirt away, and drew her palm down her face to clear it.

On chance- she looked at her claws whilst she struggled to stand back onto her cloven, reptilian feet- seeing her fingers now marked with drawn tendrils of dark crimson.

A lancing heat on her brow flared painfully- she hissed from the sensation, and lumbered away from where the blast had hit her. Her hearing was just returning from a hellish omnipresence of 'White noise'- a little ring that had temporarily deafened her.

She found Sanford trying to stand up on the ground a few inches away- his eyes were narrowed, squinted- and he actually reacted with raised brows when she bent down to him.

"-H-Hey... I-I think I can... I can see you, Deathclaw!" He proudly stated. "-That's your face right there-!" He pointed. "-Right?"

"-T-That's my foot, you scab."

"-OH, sorry... H-Hey... You alright? You sound bad... Y-You get hit?"

"-NO." She lied. "Get up."

"-O-Okay-WOAH!"

 ** _SHM-BUM_**

-She hauled him over her shoulder again- hissed angrily at the terrible pain, and started to flee again like nothing had transpired.

The hide on her legs complained with each swing of her feet- she shook her head to flick away a droplet of blood getting in her left eye.

In the distance- the Super Mutants beside the chieftain had long given up in their hopeless attempt to keep pace with the astronomically faster Deathclaw- they were starting to lumber back to the camp, with their chieftain falling behind.

He had hopped down from the smashed truck, his height- he watched the reptile and the armored human over her shoulder vanish in another drop of the terrain- they were as small as ants.

"...AaaaaaAAARRRGHGHH!" The Super Mutant practically screamed at the top of his lungs- he turned around and threw his weapon in a dash to the grassy earth- the bulky launcher clattering across the ferns quietly.

"Lizard took canned-human!" He angrily screeched. "You all FAILURES!"

-None of his stupid companions had the attention span to even realize, that the screaming nutcase up on the hill- that was actually their leader- was yelling at THEM.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

When had ever been the last time he had been... Alone?

Like, alone with no help? No other thing, man or otherwise, to keep him company?

It had been a long time ago- he had wandered, he'd seen a fraction of what the wastelands of the burned world had to offer, and he had broken that solitude by finding the very fleshy being that had been friends with him for years.

Hancock had always been programmed to destroy and seek nothing but the orders of those that designed him- that was the base programming, that was overrode by his own sense of 'Insanity'- he liked to dub.

Though really- to this day, he didn't exactly know what had caused that coding catastrophe that gave him the kind of 'Personality' he sported.

There had been nothing before he had briefly been alone in the wastes up until his current point- like humans could remember nothing before being born, because there WAS nothing before birth.

Hancock remembered, because he had photo-recognition software that made it impossible for him to forget- he had recorded every day of his 'Life' his active activation, from the time he had 'Woken', until now.

Not once in all those years did he ever find or scan evidence that lead to an answer of where he came from- of course, in a physical sense, he CAME from the U.S. Army and whatever factory floor had made his number line.

But he had never seen service when the United States Military was still around, and he had never been activated for another two hundred years before he, again- 'Woke' -in a world of ashes and ruins of the good ole' U.S.A.

With no military, no orders- he flew around and shot anything dead that tried to dismantle him- which, after a few days of literally flying anywhere he pleased- turned out to rack up quite the body count.

Hancock had killed a lot of living things- again, since his records were complete- he had confirmed in his recent memory dump files, that over 1,402 life forms had been terminated by any of the weapons mounted on his chassis- and the number was almost triple that when he read Sanford's sight-sig files.

They were veterans- they'd seen a lot, the horrors, the wonders and the amazing things and the challenges... But never once had Hancock seen the brunt of it all alone.

Those fights in his wanderings were child's play compared to the ones with Sanford- his greatest feats were by teamwork- it was how it rolled with them.

Thus, when his systems were reset, and his motor-sensor array regained power fluctuation after his battery pack was automatically put in safety stasis- the Mr. Gutsy's three ocu-lenses flickered open and with light- to see nothing but black.

Hancock jolted in motion- startled -and dust flittered off his chassis in a thin cloud.

His arms moved, whining, clanking about- pebbles rolled off the metal in droves.

"-UGH... My... Aching sponson mount... What the hell just happened, sir?" Hancock shook himself vehemently upon rising from where had been tossed onto the rocky earth- his ocu-lenses scanned about curiously as his central thruster flared to life.

Hovering there- he popped open his circuitry lockbox with an electric-sounding patter of contacting metal- reached in with his claw and swept about to dislodge a small cloud of airborne particles gathered from the tumble.

Closing the hatch on the side of his round chassis- Hancock scanned a field of stone and dirt, littered with ferns and tall grass- in the distance, a receding hill of fire sprouted from the crumbled remains of a stone, blocky structure built into the ground.

Behind that, the towering bone-laden steel girders of the Super Mutant camp stood in shadow.

"Sir?" Hancock spiraled around, looking in all directions. "Sir? SIR?! Holy crap, Sanford! SAN-FORD!"

"-'Ey!"

"-WAH-?! WHOOSEE-WHATS?!" Hancock spun around when a deep, throaty voice interrupted his panicked rant.

A Super Mutant stood on a nearby rock raise- makeshift armor constructed of car parts layering his green, muscular torso- the beast raised a hunting rifle at him.

"-Yu pay' fer frend's ascape' metull-man-!"

 ** _CLAK CLK_**

-The Mutant's head popped like a cist under a needle's descent- the body flying back with his skull flapping around in two, crimson halves centered with misting, neon green.

"-Shut your fat-face, ooga-booga-bitch! I'm looking for my parasitic hobble I call a friend!" Hancock snapped, turning away from where the corpse had collapsed to. "SANFORD! SANFORD!"

He waited.

...

No response.

"Agh..." Hancock rolled his ocu-lenses. "-SAN-FORD! SANNY'! SANS-MANS! ANYBODY! I... I... Oh my God... H-Holy shit, I-I'm alone... I'm alone! In enemy territory! The Viet-Kong will throw me in a cage and torture me for the secret of western barbecue cuisine!"

The robot looked eastward- his thruster flaring- and, understand here, that outside of his knowledge- his friends had just fled in the opposite direction.

Hancock- clueless -zoomed off to the east over all the rocks in bounding jumps and zips- giving off faint, echoed cries of protecting America's burgers and hotdogs rattling out into the night atmosphere.

Where the Mutants didn't even comprehend their chieftain suffering an anuerism on the hilltop beside the camp- Hancock's distant shouts and cries were taken as a fluent commonality of gaseous indigestion from their fellows.

Perhaps, seeing Hancock's rants as flatulence was a sign from the greater powers of creation.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Her muscles finally tired out after a few more minutes of running- biogenetically engineered or not, she couldn't indefinitely sprint through the Commonwealth with a ton of metal-encased, smelly human over her shoulder.

She could ALMOST run with that indefinitely- her kind was designed for the impossible- but today, and with all the fighting and the traveling earlier before being kidnapped- she was exhausted.

Slumping to a lazy walk with a few more huffs of effort- she shook her arm to rouse Sanford who had been curled up and still in the armor.

"-I... I can't... I can't run anymore, monsieur'... I can't..."

"-Then put me the hell down already! I said I could walk!"

"...B-but," She breathed. "...I thought you... Can't see?"

"It's getting clearer, I mean-" He waved his gauntlet in front of his helmet's eye lenses. "-I can see my hand in front of my face."

"...Okay... Okay, fine..."

"I think the helmet's systems saved me from the brunt of it... And, hey, uh... Thanks for saving my-"

 ** _SSKL-WHM_**

 ** _BMMM_**

-"WOOA-OAH-OW! Ouch! God that hurts like hell-! Did ya' need to drop me like that-?"

 ** _PMM-BMMBM_**

-"-...Uh, hey... Iguana-Toes, you okay?"

"...MMMMmmmm..."

"...You must be exhausted."

"...Mmm..."

The Deathclaw had fallen face first onto the ground after she dropped him like a sack of potatoes.

Having landed on his backside- Sanford slowly stood to his full height again with whirs of servos and whines of gears- he reached up and took his helmet off with a de-coupling hiss, tossing it on the ground, sweat matting his face.

Her back heaved shakily with each breath- she looked like a mound of scales down there, head sprawled out, chin in the dirt, tongue slipping out from her front fangs every other breath.

Sanford moved with aches in his back and his entire body- hissing in discomfort, he hobbled to stand a few feet beside her, and he shifted inside the suit of armor.

"...Aw, this shit's killing me..."

"...Mmmm..." She groaned.

"-Hold on, I'm coming..."

The X-01 suit opened for the first time in two or so days- unfolding like a flower of metal and synthetics- Sanford shakily stepped out the rear of the exoskeleton inside- stumbled back, and fell on his butt with a kick of dust.

Sitting down there in a stupor- he blinked at the ajar insides of his armor, cringing at the mangled gash that had been the cause of his entrapment- and noted how so much of the structure hadn't been damaged by the impalement.

It was more like things had just been dented and shoved aside- which was still a problem, but was more fixable than if parts of the suit had been totaled.

Laughing at his clumsiness- he slowly stood up, and stretched his back with both hands pressed to his spine to hear a disk satisfyingly snap.

"-OH-There's the ticket." He sighed. "Holy hell... T-That was... That was some ride, huh, Ms. Deathclaw?"

"...Stop... Talking..." She muttered, he almost didn't hear her.

"...Hey, are you... Alright? Besides being tired?"

"...I'm... I'm freakin'... Fine..."

"Are you bleeding?"

"...Just...A little..."

"W-What happened? H-How did- oh God..." Sanford went wide eyed.

She was bleeding A LOT.

There were tens of gashes all over her- a bunch on her legs, on her torso, none longer than his index finger...

There was a big one over her left eye- a ragged welt that a river of crimson flowing right past her upper eye, down her cheek bone, to dribble off her jaw.

Shrapnel.

It must have been shrapnel.

The explosion before...

"Oh no... That's... That's not-" He almost finished with- 'That's not good'- but he figured just stating the obvious made him look like a prick.

He bent down and started fiddling to get the sweaty, stinky rucksack that he used for his scavenging off his back- through all the padding.

"...No..." She shook her head weakly from down on the ground. "...No, don't... Don't help me..."

"-Look, Ms. Deathclaw- I dunno' why your life is so screwed up in your eyes, but I'm not going to sit here and let you, let YOURSELF die."

"...It's my choice..."

"Fuck independence of thought," Sanford barked, tearing free a cluster of syringes from the bag's interior. "Stay still or I'll force you to take these."

"...FORCE...me?!"

"Yeah."

"...YOU... You... YOU LITTLE... I-I'LL..." The Deathclaw tried to move- but it looked like someone had tried to nudge her and her massive weight- and that someone just happened to be something small, like a corgi dog, or a house cat.

Sanford hoped the chemicals would work on her- and while, he would've wanted a better more certain alternative- he didn't have anything else.

Stimulation injections saved lives every day in the wastes- they accelerated cellular regeneration, a medical marvel that survived the war unlike so many others- it had to work on her, even if she was a giant walking lizard.

"This'll sting." He muttered- aiming the needle for the gash above her eye.

"...N-No... Stop..." She pleaded- arm dragging and falling limp on the ground. "...I don't... I don't want..."

"I don't care."

"...Kill... KILL YOU... When... When wake up..."

"I don't care."

"...S-STOP..."

"No."

"...Sanford..."

"No."

"...SANFORD..."

"NO."

He drained the last of the syringe, flicked it away, and nudged down to her legs- he stuck and emptied a needle with each respectively.

As he took away the last one from her rib section- he kept digging through all the old items and valuables he still had in the bag's main fold- came back with sanitized gauze, and started wiping off all the blood on her face.

He dabbed around her eye- the yellow, thin orb that was tightly shut and straining in a quiver as he delicately touched away the red staining her scales.

When he receded to toss the red gauze away- her eye opened, and with it, it released a small flood of moisture that dragged down her cheek bone to replace the little river of red from before with this salty newcomer.

Sanford saw that, and frowned deeply.

He didn't know she could... CRY.

But, she did, and, here it was.

Exhaling- Sanford came back after a few minutes down by her legs, trying to wipe away some of the matted blood wherever he saw it- he sat by her head.

"...I... I don't really know, if it's right to apologize to you... Like... I can't just, let you die."

"...Why...?" Was all she asked, simply, through her still and jagged teeth,

"...I haven't had someone to watch my back since I lost my old life," He smiled. "...And, me and Han' are the most ragtag group in the wasteland, so... Non-human, once-human or not, I can't judge Ghouls, so I can't judge you."

"...But... I'm... M-Monster..."

"Not to me."

"-M-Merde'..."

"What does that mean? You never answered me." He chuckled.

"...Fuck..."

"...Oh, okay, still caged up then, I under-"

"-MEANS... FUCK..." She grunted. "...Merde'... Translate... FUCK..."

"Merde' means 'Fuck' in French?"

"...Mmm..."

"Interesting, Ms. Deathclaw."

"...Mm..."

"...So, uhm..." He looked over her- scanning their surroundings.

They were still technically in the middle of nowhere.

No buildings, no roads... If they kept going west, they'd start to go into former Concord Massachusetts with how far they had strayed from the mainland Commonwealth.

It was getting darker- it worried him.

Looking back down at the Deathclaw- he saw her one eye still drained on his face, her breathing had calmed.

He did the unthinkable- even though, technically the last few days had been unthinkable too- and he rubbed his gloved hand into the crease behind her left horn, to the base of her skull- in the most continued contact he'd ever had with her in such a manner.

She didn't react to his touch all that much- her eye just trailed from him to lower towards the ground again- her chest rose and fell with a deep huff.

"...I gotta' figure out a way to keep you around," He mused. "You're not bad at all."

"...I... I don't understand you..."

How ironic, did she just directly quote the past?

Huh.

-Too bad Sanford didn't know the connection to that.

"That's okay, not many people do." He shrugged. "I guess we'll just sit here for awhile... Right?"

"...Mmhmm..."

"Alright."

Sanford sat back, and stared at the Deathclaw for a good amount of time- he waited until her eyes shut, and her breathing became slow, and deliberate, a tiny whistle leaving her nostrils.

He checked the gash over her eye with a closer glance- and saw that it had already scabbed over- in a few hours, it would be gone- which meant the stimpacks worked like a charm.

Relieved- he suddenly felt a chill when he looked about his person, and then when he looked back at the empty, open suit of Power Armor behind him.

He didn't have a gun.

He didn't have Hancock.

He was defenseless in the middle of nowhere with the Deathclaw napping.

Not so good.

Sanford ground his teeth as he dug back into the rucksack still on the ground next to him- hope hit him when his fingers wrapped around something hard and metal.

He pulled the object out from the main flap, past a few aluminum boltheads that flittered and fell back inside- and smiled fully.

It was his silenced pistol. The Mutants hadn't taken it like his shotgun, and his SMG.

Sanford ejected the magazine- and saw it fully loaded. He slipped it back inside, dug through the bag more- and came back with two spares.

At least, he felt a little safer.

He held the pistol one-handed- stood up and walked over to the X-01 suit idly waiting for his reentry- he walked round to the back, and carefully ejected the fusion core inside the activation swatch, underhand rolling it next to his rucksack on the ground.

He sat down in front of the still standing suit- watching the sleeping Deathclaw, pistol hung in his lap.

Some day this had been.

Night fell unhindered, like a great, dark blanket.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER 17**

 **The Theoretical Divide.**

* * *

Where was her luck? Had it died? Had it left? Wasn't her kind supposed to be lucky in general? So why did that general aura not extend that blessing to her?

Was it because of how she had treated the others of her kind that had offered her sanctuary? Was it just a really bad case of karma striking back? Like, what was the reason that all she did every day was run away and feel miserable?

She had been driven to become angry all the time, enraged and wrathful, wrapped in a thick sociality-killing coating of vindictiveness. The wasteland had given her nothing but BAD luck... But peoples that lived in the wastes had tried to help her.

Her own kind did that- and she repaid them by taking their assistance and shoving them away, isolating herself and never reemerging- they died before she could repent for those deeds, make up for the brash incapability to be thankful.

The biggest regret was her own salvation- when she had an opportunity to be happy, she deliberately stepped around it when she had been moaning and groaning for years on end about how awful she had it.

After that debacle, that tragedy- she had taken to being as silent as she could- she took the following pains of the years without the same hope of relief from before, and, she actually had been hoping one of the following bad things would eventually be her last.

Humans had a scientific/medical term for this kind of state of mental health... She thought it was called 'Depression'- but the symptoms of that seemed pale when brought up against the things battering her mind every day.

That was why she had gotten so angry at Sanford- she was such a physically strong being, and not only was he denying her the finality to her life that she had strove for- but he FORCED her to do it, and NO ONE forced her to do anything. No one.

But when she had woken from the ground- her yellow eyes snapping open with a quick intake of breath- she discovered that these broiling negative emotions, things that made her want to rend and kill, were depleted and drained as she thought outside her half-asleep state.

Awake, and sniffing a crisp morning air- the reptile stirred on the ground, grunting- grinding her teeth as she painfully unfolded her sprawled arms from under her ribs, and used her planted palms to start sitting up.

She exhaled in discomfort from laying back on her haunches- her legs complained, but they felt better. And that was weird, because, all Sanford had done was wipe the blood off.

That's all he did...

-Right?

"...Needles..." She muttered- finding one of the discarded packs on the ground by her knee, she pinched it between two fingers, and brought it up to her chops to examine it. Her claw quaked, and the syringe snapped in two with a click of plastics.

"-NEEDLES." She grunted. "That-BASTARD."

The reasoning of why her legs and her torso didn't feel like absolute shredded crap was lost to her- she gasped as she stood on quaking heels, finding her stance a bit wavering, and hard to maintain.

She shook her head, fingers stroking her brow- which she also found was scabbed over and lacking bleeding.

That little shit had healed her with... Something. Something in those syringes.

She was caught between being angry at her right to die being snatched away- and being flattered by the little ape for expending limited supplies to keep her going.

In the end, she opted for the angry part, first.

-As in- 'Thanks for the help, monkey- but touch me again and I'll tear your nads' off.' -sort of deal.

She looked around with quick sweeps- saw what she thought was the human standing nearby, and was shocked to see that it was nothing more than the unfolded exoskeleton of the X-01 armor he had been wearing.

He hadn't come fully out of the armor the entire time they had been stuck together- her anger was stalled by curiosity, as she stepped over to and around the back of the opened exoskeletal protection.

The inside was unfolded and opened like a glove that the human could literally just slide into- it was breached and dented with two gashes that combined inbetween their centers, to make an sideway-'8'-shaped hole in the gut.

She sniffed towards the inside of the suit- and snorted, reclining her head.

It smelled like death in there- human perspiration. Sometimes she appreciated being cold-blooded, and covered in scales.

"Simians' et leurs' fluides corporels puantes'..." She grumbled.

Glancing over the suit's shoulder pauldron- she looked about the surrounding overhanging rocks and the hills that lipped up and down on three sides of this little indent they had stopped in- she was hopeful nothing had gotten the human as she slept.

-After all, SHE wanted to kill him- of course, that was the reason for her feigned concern, of course. Of course.

Her eyes went wide when she saw the subject of her roused agitation- the man stepping over the raise of land up ahead, dressed in his strange combination of leather and metal padding above which was the commonality of 'Clothes'- that she had never understood until recent years.

That being, because in the only logic the chaos of the wastes could make- she had looked into that which hated her and she had started hate, in the form of research- as, who DIDN'T research the people they hated? Right?

She learned much of her communication through studying humans before she joined up with the pack wiped out by the Enclave- and when she had picked up the small amount of reading ability that she had, she had come across an anatomy book one day.

Through her resulting horror- she then saw WHY humans wore clothes all the time, and vowed to never retouch the subject. Thus, there was no curiosity to begin with in seeing Sanford the way he was outside the exoskeleton- only a whole bunch of anger.

"YOU!" She barked- swinging around the inactive suit of X-01 armor- she bounded across the clearing, right over where she had slept, clear over a boulder- and she was in his face before he could even process her shouting at him.

Though- he didn't look very surprised with the giant reptile in his face- in fact, the thing that slowed down her movements was that he just stood there looking... Tired.

Her claw had just unfurled, and was radiating its presence on his neck for how close she came to grabbing him by the throat- and he warded the whole thing away with a simple raise of his hand.

"...I'm really, REALLY, not in the mood." He said, eyes droopy, bagged- expressionless overall.

She could hear vehicle brakes as her aggression ground to a halt, and she just stood there- towering over him- mouth slightly agape.

"-W-WHAT?" She stuttered. "-Y-You... You can't NOT be in the mood, monsieur'! I have to KILL you!"

"Kill me later, please."

"B-But... But-!"

"-No 'Buts', I'm taking a nap."

"...But..."

"-I know it's morning, I've been up all night."

"...Why?"

"Bloatflies." Sanford gestured over his shoulder- and when she followed his gaze, she squinted to see a small body of gathered water- just over the rise of a few more rocks, a clear little pond.

There were black huddles of crumpled, smashed and beaten matter that was slashed between dark and repulsively glistening green- a whole bunch of the dead insects all along the northern shore of the distant pond.

She retracted her claw, and raised both of them to him with a look of shock.

"Why didn't you call me to HELP you, monsieur'?!" She barked again.

"I did." Was all he flatly stated, without so much as a flinch.

"-W-Well," She huffed. "-Well why in hell's name were you over THERE anyway?!"

"I stink like a corpse." He responded. "I STUNK, like ten corpses."

"And you got ambushed by flies?"

"You got a better story?"

"...Y-Yes I do- I'm going to KILL YOU. How's that for a story, merde' visage'?!"

"Sounds thrilling."

Sanford pushed away her brandished claw from his path- he ducked past her shoulder, and walked back towards where his armor suit was still gathering dust- and throughout the entire exchange, he did not once react to her temperamental rage.

A few hours ago, he was in disbelief that she could speak, he was afraid she would tear him up and the like- and now he was dismissing her fury like a parent would put a screaming toddler back in the crib after they climbed out.

What the heck did she miss? Was there a time gap here? Could Sanford time-travel?

She spiraled around- watching his back, him trotting away- before she blinked and scrambled past him in a rush of motion, standing there diligently before him for a second instance.

"Don't you walk away from me!" She snapped.

"Sod off."

The Deathclaw quivered with rage- and, without really putting forth the effort to do so- her palm lashed out- and it was her palm specifically, seeing as she spread her claws away to avoid actually dealing meaningful harm.

She just wanted to slap him, something light to vent on him- he was pissing her off.

Her hand met air in a whooshing parting of cold breeze- she went wide eyed, and looked about her feet in wild confusion.

He'd ducked under it- and he was further behind her again.

"Don't do that, please." Came quietly to her.

"I said- don't you freaking walk away from ME!"

"Leave me alone."

He noted how enraged she sounded, and how she interestingly refused to lay a finger on him as she trailed right behind him- ranting, getting louder.

He felt like Han' had died, and his robotic essence had somehow switched bodies into hers while she slept- like a bodysnatcher sort of thing.

The remakes of that movie sucked- and so did Sanford's confidence, as it turned out he couldn't live a day of his life anymore without SOMEBODY screaming in his ear- yesterday a robot, today, an eight-foot tall reptilian lady.

Either God hated him, or life down here blew that many chunks.

"-I told you to let me die! And you saved me anyway! I'll kill you!"

"Can you DO that already? My friend's dead, and now all I have left is YOU- and something obviously crawled up your ass and died, which would explain your attitude."

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME, MONSIEUR'?!"

"Did I speak something other than French, or English?"

"You little bastard-!"

He was roughly cuffed from behind, right between the shoulder blades- he stumbled forwards from the impact, sighing the whole way.

The Deathclaw was so close to him as he kept moving, that he could feel her throat vibrating which each shout she made as she hung over him angrily- but Mr. Tobs was just too tired, too spent, and too worried about his stupid robot to care.

"Where do YOU think you're going?!"

"To sleep."

"OOH-HO, not today, monsieur'!"

"You're giving me a headache."

"You ARE a headache!"

"Great, that's fuckin' great," He turned around with an indent between his two brows, and he had a finger jabbing up at her.

"You told me that you were staying with me and Han' to free yourself without killing one of us- well guess what, tootse', there isn't ANYTHING, stopping you from walking away right this second. You spent all that time I tried making friends, complaining, and arguing, and being confrontational- and NOW, you're pissed that I saved your life too?

Lemme' ask you something, if I had kicked dirt at you, called you an animal and said that you weren't worth the very life energy you had been blessed with- would you have taken that better? Hmm? Would you NOT have sliced me in two?

...I should've known better... Even with Deathclaws, with LIZARDS! Women gravitate to assholes, this is great, really astounding- first, FUCKING, class! You know that?"

...Wow, he sure had his underwear tag on the wrong side today.

Sanford just belted it out- he let his temper talk for him- that, and he was so worried about Han', about his home that he now was not able to defend that held everything he owned- that the Deathclaw's weird depression-mannerism was not on his list of being understood.

Sanford over the last few hours had lost his patience- he'd gone against his own philosophy of positivity and optimism- he now stared the larger reptile down with narrowed eyes, finger still raised at her.

She was breathing so hard, that her shoulders were rising and falling with each breath- she was so angry, that her eyes hurt from how wide they were getting.

She was so, flippin' mad- that she felt the very past itself rear its terrible mug for the second or third time in the recent day and a half- Sanford had no idea just how many bad things he had reminded her about herself, and about how she had lived.

Seeing the scrawny little shit with his finger in her face made her blood boil.

The Deathclaw heaved one last, huge inhale- and SCREAMED at him.

"Vous insignifiant petit MORCEAU DE MERDE'! JE VOUS AURAIS EVISCERE', PISSE SUR VOTRE CADAVRE ET ARRACHE LES ENTRAILLES DE LA SOIE DENTAIRE AVEC EUX!"

His hair frilled over his scalp with the blast of air she made saying the unbelievable tsunami of French profanity, curses, insults- and it didn't stop with that, she kept going, face in his.

"Vos parents ont probablement fini leur vie quand ils ont decouvert que vous etiez concieved! Oubliez cette histoire de la bombe atomique vous vomi'!"

Sanford felt his eye twitch when she paused for breath- gulping in more air, she tore away from him with a flail of her right arm, swinging her hand at him and stalking the way he faced.

"FINE, monsieur'! You're on your own! We're EVEN now!"

"Save for a save, huh?"

"FUCK YOU!"

"Ah-hah, really sweet."

"FUCK. YOU!"

Sanford found himself smiling when the Deathclaw stopped mid walk away from him- she cast her glance about to the east and west, started to move west and then spun around for east.

He stood there in the same place- folding his arms, grinning- she had climbed atop a rock, turned and saw him staring- called back to him.

"WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT, MONSIEUR'?!"

"...You have no idea where we are, do you?" He spoke, hand clenching over his mouth.

"GO FALL IN A DITCH!"

"I give you ten hours."

"YOU'RE JUST LOST! YOU KNOW THAT?! LOST!"

"No way, baby-girl, YOU'RE apparently very lost."

"FUCK YOU!"

"Sorry, not into dino's."

"TWO FACED, CONNARD'!"

"Sure. Ten hours, remember."

She hopped over a raise, and was gone.

Sanford rolled his right arm, grumbled. He felt something with that creature click, yesterday.

As he sat before his rucksack to dig out the power core for his suit- he bit his lower lip, and decided that it was not such a crazy, hopeless hunch- that she would be back faster than he had guessed.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

It hadn't gotten any lighter since he had started his 'Search'- or at least, the sweeping back and forth he CALLED a search- his internal tracking registered that it was still late at night.

Hancock had given up trying to call out for Sanford or even his new lizard-buddy on the grounds of him doing so, for what seemed like forever- and still receiving no response. Sanford was a jerk sometimes, but he wouldn't play some sort of sick joke if there was danger involved.

The Mr. Gutsy didn't have original programming for so many things- including emotions and worry- but since he had overrode much of his base hard coding, he was getting a great deal of the latter of those two examples.

Sanford and he hadn't ever been parted in a combat situation before- not for longer than a few minutes at most. This was different by a long shot- Hancock couldn't even pick up Sanford's suit recognition in his scanners.

For all he knew, Sanford could've been going an entirely different direction- IF, he was still alive.

That bothered the robot.

What exactly would he do if Sanford was dead? His only friend? His travel buddy? His cynical anti-Communist -'Bro'- as the young people said.

"...First thing I'll do is shoot that scaly turd," Hancock muttered, swinging the air with his inactive buzzsaw. "-Deathclaw? HMPF! More like METH-Claw, HA!"

The robot was cracking himself up as he hovered along the clearing terrain- trying to distance himself from the Super Mutant encampment as far as possible until he could regroup with his allies. He'd get them to come back around, and the three of them would demolish that place.

"I'll kill the ooga-booga bitches in their own dirt-huts!" Hancock laughed. "-Smack the green right off their misshapen craniums! Right, sir?"

He turned an ocu-lense behind himself- and the robot deflated visibly at the still air.

"...I forgot... Damn it!" Hancock snapped. "Judge me!"

Hancock wasn't doing so well- and not in a physical sense, because, the explosion had done its worst on him in the form of some scuffs, which he already had a coat of to match them, so, he was in good repair and mind about it all- but in another way, he was getting a tad whacky.

He had been talking to the air for at least twenty minutes- and that was the second time he had spun around expecting a response.

Partially, he was just doing that to himself because he felt separated, a bit alone- but it was also a reaction that he was caging up into to ward off the anxiousness.

He certainly hoped Sanford wasn't hurt, or dead- that would just suck.

The robot put a bit extra thrust into his central engine- he arced over a large rock, levitated closer to the ground with a plume of tan. His scanners were on were overdrive as he took in the surrounding foothills and rock formations- as, the last he wanted was to be jumped by more Super Mutants.

Eventually, the wandering and completely lost robot happened on a trailing vein of gray to go against the dusty earth and swathes of stone-gridded hills he had been looping between- there was a rusted, and folded guard rail he zipped around.

It lay there, like an arm hacked from some metal monster and draped across the ground- and after that was a cracked expanse of road that extended in a winding zig-zag in two directions.

Hancock stopped in the middle of the pavement- giving off a stressed huff- he started digging into his mapping files, and came to the conclusion that this road, heading south- would start to bring him back towards the center of the Commonwealth.

If Sanford was retreating, and hadn't been aware of the Mr. Gutsy's location... Maybe he was going home to grab more munitions, as, he obviously wasn't attacking the Super Mutants- there'd be a lot more explosions and death screams in the backdrop- seeing as there were none.

Hancock started to fly towards the south- his center ocu-lense lowering whilst he bobbed in the air in a idle glide- he traced the yellow divider chalk that was barely a shadow on the road's spine.

...This was all that Deathclaw's fault.

Hancock just KNEW, it was a bad, bad, BAD idea to not shoot it, her, whatever it/her was...

Sanford had thrown himself into another messed up conundrum, and now the two-perhaps three -of them had to dig their way out of it.

That was the pattern with them- they got into a mess, they clawed out, and they left the smoldering, body filled ruins richer and wiser each time. Hancock couldn't decide if that constant life of theirs was worth a complaint, or gratitude because they survived every instance of it.

He didn't know.

Nobody knew- that was silly talk, the Wasteland was too big, too expansive with too many people for their events to be understood by any others. And if Hancock and Sanford still couldn't make up their minds about their lives then no one was.

...Putting aside his jocular behavior every day- now that Hancock was alone, now that he was cut off from Sanford- he had an opportunity to allow another personality to breach out and influence whatever it was he was doing.

In this case, it was just flying- but the more Hancock processed all the things that Sanford had poetically put out there over the years in this current attitude- the more he resonated with it.

"There's so many brilliant people that are ingeniously trying, and sometimes succeeding- in bringing humanity back together," Sanford once said- ironically, speaking of peace and prosperity as they walked among the corpses of a group of Raiders. "-And they never get the notoriety, or the credit they deserve, it's sad."

"I think, YOU'RE thinking about it too much, sir!" Hancock snapped- dragging out a pouch of caps from a dead Raider's belt latch. "This goon sure had the bucks, Hoo-rah!"

"You really don't see it that way?" Sanford asked, nudging a body with his boot after relieving her of a customized side arm.

"Trying me with philosophy is like putting maple syrup on franks! It's just damn UGLY! And it tastes like shit."

"I almost wish I knew how to code out the army-personality bullshit in your mainframe."

"TOUCH MY CIRCUITRY, AND I'LL BUZZSAW YOUR NADS!"

...Amazing.

No- not the buzzsaw threat-

-Amazing that years ago, Hancock laughed at the deeper image Sanford was taking out of the Commonwealth, and now he was moping on how blunt and close minded he had been on it- and now, Sanford could be dead, it could be too late to make up for that.

Hadn't the Deathclaw been all up in arms about something like this? Repenting for previous sins sort of bullshit? Hancock hated over dramatic bullshit.

He also hated being alone in the middle of nowhere- but, there was no avoiding that train, it seemed.

"I knew he should've let me install that atomic attachment to my engine!" Hancock grumbled. "I'd just FLY home! Whoosh! -Like Captain America! It'd be amazing! It'd be- o-or... W-Was it Super Man that flew? Ahhh-SHIT! My comics knowledge has faltered! What's next? Battery charge?"

The first thing to go was the mind, Hancock knew.

Sanford was gone for a mere few hours- and the world was closing in around it him.

Maybe he was a bit... TOO insane, for his own good.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

"Unbelievable- I hate him... I hope the Super Mutants eat him."

Tiny ranting about the man's untimely doom being deserved unto his current person, tidings of how much of a lowlife he was, and commentary and hurled insults towards his entire genetic lineage were being drabbled off one after the other under her breath.

The Deathclaw had been stalking through the rock-strewn foothills for maybe a half hour, forty minutes give-or-take- she was angry, fuming- her heart was thudding in her chest with just how much displeasure and animosity was eating away at her insides.

Yesterday- and today, too- had been utterly horrible, easily the worst days in her recent few years. She couldn't say they were the worst in her entire LIFE, because, obviously, you could discredit that comparison with a mere moment of reading her past.

She had been sleeping for half a day and an entire night- and she was still tired, her muscles were still flaring- and by God as her witness, she was STARVING.

Why there couldn't be some nice, plump Radstag that had a death wish to happen by her today was lost to her reasoning, but embraced by her anger- thus that was the deal.

She was fatigued, pissed, hungry, and some water would be friggin' nice too.

"-I'm complaining again." She muttered to herself.

The past was just repeating in so many different ways recently. Sanford had gotten out things locked away for years in her in only a day. That was unfathomable.

All the solitude must have inadvertently negated the subjects from her for all this time- seeing as there was no one to talk to that entire passing, maybe she just never thought of bringing those things up with herself, least of all the air.

Was she that caged up this whole time? That locked away? The Enclave had done this to her- when they ruined her even further, stole away that open-armed clan of intelligent offshoots of her kind... They literally put a padlock on her former self and never took it off.

She had shut herself down- she made no effort to seek out companionship because she reasoned it only brought the people around her suffering- so she aimed for solitude, and it hurt her emotionally, mentally- even where her body remained fine.

All this time she had certainly prevented a whole boatload of bullets being flung in her direction- she'd warded away the attention of more humans willing to kill her than talk to her- and she had salvaged nothing from that age but a dirty body, no broken bones, and a soul misted in darkness.

She had been granted sentience- something her kind was never meant to have.

It was kind of like asking, what a GUN, a real gun- like an assault rifle or a carbine, a tool of war- do with itself and feel, if it were alive and capable of independent action?

Would it flee? Remark to itself in horror at its own existence? The fact it was made to kill people and do nothing else? Or would it embrace it and turn into an effective machine of death and strife?

You had to consider that with people, with other sentient beings.

It was how villains were born- what happened when those in question EMBRACED the darkness, and didn't push it away?

Of course, she had always come close to considering it- but she had never committed to the evil things she was capable of doing. She never killed other sentient creatures for food, or for anything besides self-defense at that...

She never stole, she never pillaged- she never destroyed or terrorized innocent people.

-But because there were Deathclaws across the Wasteland- not just in the Commonwealth, but all the way from D.C. to the west coast by California and the holdouts in Nevada- that DID do those things, people branded her an abomination that needed to be burned.

She had read about things like that from her brief travels through human literature- things like segregation, and sexism- nationalism that penalized people from one general place because of the actions of somebody who lived in the same country they did.

She'd found a tome in the small amount of human items that clan of her kind- the intelligent ones -kept locked away in some chamber beneath their cave home.

The book was about an ancient event, called the 'Revolutionary War'- a 'War for Independence'- as quoted.

The English Empire against the American Colonists- that was one of the first samples she took in, to try and understand why war was the way it was- why, despite how horrible it was and how there was literally no glory or benefit from it- why mankind still thrived in it?

Why did humans kill each other all the time, if all it did was exterminate innocent people? When all it did was bring suffering, and pain, and anguish, and hate and all these deplorable things that were beneath even apes.

Why did humans kill each other all the time if THAT was the result?

...She knew why.

She knew why, but... She didn't want to except it. Really, what historian would willingly admit they accepted it either?

It was exactly the same discussion as- 'What if a gun was alive, what would it do?'- and here's why, even though it was humans, PEOPLE, in question-

The world had free will, even in places ruled by totalitarian governments and heads- people disagreed en masse, and because people were independent they competed with resources, and things that were important to them because there was fair game for either side to take it.

Talking was too drawn out- and cultural differences, different dialects- made it sometimes impossible to do when people were already angry and fueled by their need to be vindictive and to have the goal that the other group wanted.

People disagreed over everything that made the fabric of society- land, ownership, homes, food, wealth, family, children, marriage- the list was infinite, and maybe half if not all of those things had sparked a war or armed conflict at least once, SOMEWHERE in the globe.

Whereas many would address that ludicrous question of a GUN in what it would do with life- the answer was plain as day.

Maybe the gun, the sentient being- would embrace its purpose, try to change, or simply lock up and wait.

So many humans were under the impression, that there were only two solutions- fight or flight, peace or chaos...

It was so much more complicated than that- not so black and white.

People reacted to everything in their own way- human or otherwise. When the stress was right, and the circumstances chaotic enough- shit happened, and people did terrible, terrible, TERRIBLE things that in a normal situation they would never even think of doing.

War was the cause of that. Honest men and women that worked hard to earn and provide for a loving family, beautiful children, beautiful spouses- they were warped and corrupted on the battlefield.

They panicked- and things like murder, rape, theft, defilement, hatred... And fear, raw, unadulterated FEAR, ran rampant.

The Wasteland was just a miniaturized ecosystem of factions and groups instead of countries. All those things, good and bad, happened out here.

-And she knew all of that, she was smart about all of it, and she knew the wonderful things that happened when people just sat down and talked...

And here she was running away from it.

This was the SECOND time, too.

The Deathclaw realized she had been walking around in a lazy circle in the same divide between two hills she was passing through- how long she had been doing it, she didn't know.

She looked at the sphere of footprints and disturbed soil she'd made, flicked her tail, and huffed raggedly.

She looked over her shoulder, and turned around.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	18. Chapter 18

**CHAPTER 18**

 **I fell out of one barrel, into another.**

* * *

Sanford had taken to napping inside the X-01 suit.

Without his friends to take shifts with, without Hancock who didn't even need sleep at all- he didn't want to lie down and close his eyes in the middle of the open in broad daylight.

Sanford's reasoning to not put himself out like that was the same reasoning for the Wasteland's barren clutter- why there was so many ruins, rocks, forests and brambles- and how all that existed while the dead were gone in mere days.

Sanford and Hancock had killed a lot of things- people, monsters alike... And when they revisited the places of those foes' met demise- all kinds of things would be there as sight to greet them.

Sometimes some of the bodies were gone- sometimes they were ALL gone- sometimes, there were scavengers picking at them, or there was a large carnivore mauling one of them that then turned its attention unto them.

-That last one had happened a few times- Sanford and Hancock had gone into one of the old subway tunnels they had shot up a group of highwaymen in weeks ago, and one of the rotting corpses was being torn in half by the biggest Radscorpion Sanford had ever seen.

Thus, if just existing there, sprawled on the ground- was so impossible for dead things, imagine the horrors awaiting him if he tried to nap on the ground, completely exposed.

The X-01 was on its back against the dusty ground- the metals shifted in little moans whenever he shifted, or moved- he was so tired, that the padded interior was comfortable enough for him to just lay back and pass out.

Maybe he'd been sleeping for an hour- an hour or two- he woke with a roused suspicion of something moving- something moving outside the suit with shuffles of steel, the snuffling of raggedy nostrils.

His eyes zipped open- he half expected Hancock to be hanging over him, mocking him with the recording of a Molerat from his amplifier box- but instead, Sanford was granted sight of the real thing, not a sound file.

With curiosity- he refrained from reacting immediately- he watched a wrinkled, rolling, thin little body scuffle by the side of his armored hip- a thin, hairy tail whipping and curling through the air behind it.

A pug, ugly, and narrow rodent's head lifted from behind the plates of his lowered gauntlet- the Molerat sniffed up at his helmet, chittered with a pair of cracked, yellow teeth- and ducked back towards the X-01's rib section, where it dragged its claws down the metal in a repeating swipe.

 ** _chshchshcsh-chsh-chsh-... chsh chsh chsh ... chch chsh_**

-It was like watching the world's most hideous cat video.

Sanford sighed inside the suit- lifting his helmed head to observe the following action. The creak of steel and his breath alerted the mutated rodent to him being alive under all the plates- it growled, hissed, and there was a sharp clanking noise when it opened its jaws and bit into the side of the breastplate.

Gnawing on the indestructible metal- the Molerat reached up with two paws and started pushing against the suit while pulling its embedded teeth.

Sanford mumbled a curse- reached up with his gauntlet- and clasped his fist over the Molerat's cranium from behind.

The rodent screeched- twisted and turned in his grasp- its rear feet scrabbling up and kicking and clawing into his suit.

Sanford got annoyed, and gave his fingers a good twist.

 ** _CLK!_**

-The Molerat shuddered, jerked straight- like a fox pointing at a flock of birds while hunting- it flopped over his side limply, with its nasty jaws still ajar and gaping.

Sanford underhand tossed the body away- where it flopped onto the earth with a plume of dust.

He wiped his gauntlet's palm over the series of white-knicked scratches the little turd had made all over his armor- and made to stand with a creak of metal and whir of servo gears- he wanted to get up, look around.

Sanford took to walking about for a good while- making up weird little excuses in his head for securing some kind of 'Perimeter', and 'Making Sure'- of things he didn't even have concern over.

After the third circled walk around in the clearing- he stepped on top of a taller stone, going up two chins of curving, flat surfaced rock to stand at its top crag.

A few distances away- maybe a mile, he could see the outline of some structures, wooden houses and what looked like a steeple of some kind. He rolled his shoulders and decided at that point that if the Deathclaw ever did come back- that was where they were going.

He spun around and went to leap down from the rock- he stopped when he saw a hunched, gray-colored mass gather from over a raise in the land, straight ahead.

"Oh." Was all he muttered after a brief moment of chilled blood.

There she was.

The Deathclaw had her head raised up- she saw him, and slid down the incline that lead to the center of the clearing from over the hill she'd surmounted. Leaving a curving buttress of kicked dust in her wake, she finished dragging down the hill's side with stilled feet, claws outstretched for balance.

The hiss of soil stopped with a kick of dirt- she stepped across the space they'd rested in, and was at the foot of his boulder, silent.

She blinked her yellow eyes, and stepped back when he hopped off the top crag and landed with a thud of metallic rustling- the dry earth cracked from epicenters under his heels, and the ground rumbled.

He straightened out- and nodded at her.

"Yo."

"Mm." She hummed.

"You alright?"

"Mm."

"Good. I napped. I looked that way," He jabbed a thumb over his pauldron. "There's some buildings, we should head for them."

"Mm."

"I get the silent treatment now?"

"Mm."

"Alright, I'll live with that, let's go, yes?"

"...Mm."

"Mm. Yes. Mm."

Sanford blinked at her- and she raised a brow at him.

They stood there before the other- looking at each other as if they expected the other to do something, or say something.

When neither party rid themselves of their 'Statue-Disease' infection, she held an open claw and nodded at the direction he'd indicated.

"Lead the way, monsieur'- you saw it, I haven't yet."

"-OH, yeah... Yes... You're right."

Sanford wheeled around and started trotting around the boulder's flank- the Deathclaw was a few feet behind with solemn trots through the dusty, fern laden ground.

The two of them were upright, tall, contrasting abnormalities against the miles and miles of clear terrain that rolled and was pocked with formations of forest strewn stones. The sky was a dull gray- not really light, but not really dark either- darker clouds wisped to and fro in finger-like extensions.

Sanford felt weird wielding his little silenced pistol in his bulky suit of X-01 armor- it looked like a peashooter in his gauntlet's grip.

Minutes passed of them just going ahead- the terrain rose a little farther up, and they strained slightly more to trudge up the ascending chin of the dirt hill.

Sanford sighed in relief when he eventually stepped over the top precipice of the hill's ridge- he stood at its top, and waited patiently for the Deathclaw to gather towards his right side. She sat up, taller than him by a head- and huffed with a glance in the opposite direction.

He rolled his eyes at her- and turned to observe straight ahead.

This hill gave them a good vantage point over the next mile or so of bramble tangled, clear swathes that had patches of dark green and black growing across it- like matted fur on a partially shaven beast. Dead, leafless trees sprouted from these clumps- and they grew around the lower lips of boulders and rock piles.

The array of buildings up ahead made pylons in the sunlight that shown in a dazzling sheet of illumination- squat wooden houses, some concrete commercial plazas, and a steeple after what looked to be a stone statue of some kind centered in a garden square.

Sanford scanned the brief amounts of pavement that made uneven and sparse lines between the structures- he looked across large planters that ringed the destroyed statue's pedestal- dead, and filled with nothing but black dirt.

There was no movement, or any kinds of sounds to indicate activity of other people or creatures- it was the beginnings of an urban development- which one, Sanford didn't know- but it looked barren.

He knew that was hogwash, though- there was no such thing as 'Barren' urbanscapes in the Wasteland- someone or something always took up residence.

Biting his lip- Sanford still felt the weight that his only gun was having on him.

This thing wouldn't save him against a big foe- or if they got jumped by a group, and if anything- Sanford and Hancock rarely had a trip out into the wastes where they DIDN'T get jumped at least twice.

He looked over at the Deathclaw over his pauldron- she moped along, arms dragging by her hips- she noticed him observing, and met his gaze quickly.

"...What?" She asked.

"Nothing."

"...Mmm..."

Sanford could see the buildings getting more detailed- dark windows, stained and cracked walls, broken stoops and shredded pavement of the street being swallowed by dirt and strands of grass.

Rusted out autos were strewn on some of the crosswalks and in driveways- Sanford saw the statue in the center of the square in the distance was so mottled and corroded, that you could no longer tell who or what it was supposed to be.

He ground his teeth, and fiddled his fingers over the handle of his gun.

The earlier little scuffle he had with the Deathclaw was bugging him.

"-I'm sorry I said what I said, if that's any consolation." He put out, not looking at her- he could feel her eyes on his back. "I'm still not sorry that I saved you, though."

"...I shouldn't have yelled..." She sighed. "...I'm a very angry creature, monsieur'."

"...I'd say I understand, but... I'm still not sure I do."

She shrugged.

"Bad things have happened to me."

"Bad things happen to everybody."

"Not these bad things."

"I think you'd be surprised."

"...Monsieur'..."

"-Sanford, remember?"

"...Sanford..."

"Uh-huh?"

"...I barely know you, you're the first human I've interacted with for longer than five minutes,"

"Yep."

"I just don't feel comfort in talking about these things."

"Well, you already asked me, to stop asking YOU- so, I'll stick to minding my own business."

"...Do you know this place up there?"

"Maybe once two-hundred years ago, but my memories of that time are foggy... I don't know which development this is."

"Mm."

"...Let me ask you this at least,"

"Mm?"

"Are you gonna' stick around?"

"...I feel like I must, if not just for myself," She said quietly. "Would you find it strange that I found some kind of... Purpose?"

"In a day?"

"In a day."

"That's not unbelievable at all- in our world, shit happens."

"...Yes. It does."

"I'm glad you're still here, Ms. Deathclaw, you'll be joking with me and Han' before you know it."

"That puts horrible images in my head." She mused.

Her chops had curled upwards.

She said that with a smile. She hadn't smiled in years.

The Deathclaw sighed at herself as Sanford raised the chin of his helm back to the upcoming development.

To emphasize the 'Barren' description from before- a wad of some bunched up plant matter- a tumbleweed, bounced down the pavement by the beginning of the statue-centered park. Sanford looked up and saw a shutter tapping against the wall of a house it was ajar from.

Oh. This place had a spooky vibe to it, huh?

Sanford swallowed nervously, he checked his pistol to make sure the safety was off.

"We should look for guns." He said over his shoulder pauldron- glancing back and cringing at her claws. "Can you wield a gun?"

"Never tried." She stated. "I can't imagine I could, monsieur'."

"...Alright, well- I kind of rely on those, and... All I have is this thing," He held the pistol up for her. "It's better than nothing, but, not enough."

"Seeing as this is the Commonwealth in question, there HAS to be a gun in this place lying around somewhere."

"My thoughts precisely. Uhm..." Sanford wheeled around while he walked- a 360' turn to start stepping backwards and then forwards again, his head angling about.

There was something about this place that just put him off.

Even Boston City wasn't this quiet, and the only things there were Mutants, Raiders, and Diamond City- and the only two of those factions that ran around and shot each other were easy to guess.

But the fighting in Boston was always sporadic at best- that lead to days of disturbingly silent cityscape where every loud noise echoed for miles on end. Here, Sanford was almost afraid his breathing would attract attention.

They started to walk onto pavement- the Deathclaw's movements still silent, his boots now clunking against the material.

The first pair of houses gathered by their flanks on either side- their interiors dark, lifeless.

"We should get off the street." He said. "Start checking buildings."

"I can't fit through the doors, remember?"

"Then check AROUND the buildings I go in, how about that?"

"Fine."

"-That one," He pointed at the house to their left. "Let's go."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Before he attempted to move around the great, metal, ridged hulk of the barrier- he tested the air with a pause to simply listen, let his scanners run a full 360' degree around him to test for heat signatures, or motion recognitions.

His systems came dry, and he could not process any sound, or voices or footsteps- so a single ocu-lense unfolded from around the rusty corner of a flipped tractor-trailer truck, and swiveled about to view a road devoid of anything but arrays of dead vehicles.

The truck's two rear trailers were lodged across the ground, half buried from where they had ploughed indents in the soil- they draped over the edge of the road, and a corroded street lamp was bent and folded under the first trailer like a bent bobby pin under a brick.

There were cars flipped on their roofs, on their sides- bent in half, or blackened pancakes that had been created from the autos self imploding.

Hancock materialized from behind the last trailer of the vehicle- he levitated in the middle of the lane, and grunted in nervousness.

Sanford was usually here to augment his scans- tell him if he missed something, watching his back- on his own right now, he had become a bit paranoid, and little things were drawing his attention more than they normally would.

He'd detect small motions- like a tumbleweed going down a hill, or a vehicle making a groan as it settled for the millionth time in its eternal rotting for the last two-hundred years- he'd jump and have his saw and gun pointed at it in an instant.

"I wish the cap'n was here."

"Where's that runt when ya' need him..."

"Sir, if you're dead, and you can hear me up there- go screw yourself!"

-Things like were muttered from his vox amplifiers again and again.

Hancock flew between two sedans, and kept muttering as he did so.

"This would figure, we're on the verge of supremacy! -And then THIS happens... What the BALLS man?!" His buzzsaw lashed out and the passenger side mirror on a rusty SUV carcass flew off with a flick of sparks, and pattered across the street in a hundred pieces.

A slight breeze was being kicked up that whistled through the open windows and ajar doors of the river of dead cars- it was like some haunting array of wind chimes, except there was nothing calming about it, and it didn't sound nice.

Hancock was just bringing into concern- with all the paranoia at that, through the disgruntlement he vented on the cars- that cluttered places like these were always prone to being homes of less than friendly things.

As he flew between the husks of vehicles- a crosshair set in his navigation system pointing to the exact geographic location of the gas station he was moving for- he never took off the safety from his Plasma gun, and he had his buzzsaw active.

The melee weapon hummed in its bionic housing on his arm- the Plasma batteries in the gun's feed glowed a tiny pulsating neon green, he was on a bit of an edge.

So far there was nothing- but that always changed in an instant when it happened.

"This sucks, no Sanford, no chances to break down the roots of democracy to anyone... And nothing to KILL! This is the worst day, EVER!" Hancock waved his gun in the air. "-C'MON! SOMEONE! TRY TO SHOOT ME! I NEED ACTION!"

...His cries echoed across the lane of cars and trucks.

Nothing.

No sounds, no charging beasts.

Hancock draped his robotic limbs in depression.

"I hate this dump!" He proclaimed. "Atomic warfare my plated ass! This place is more barren than my spare underwear drawer! And that says a lot! I don't even WEAR UNDERWEAR!"

 ** _BMM_**

 ** _lcklcklcklkclkkclkclkl_**

 ** _BM-BM_**

 ** _Clak clak_**

 ** _lklcklkclkclkcl_**

 ** _BMMMM_**

"-W-What...? Whosee-? Whats-?!" Hancock jabbed to the east- all three ocu-lenses zipping to focus on the noise emanating from not even a single hill away.

Gunfire, tiny bursts of weapons discharge and small, controlled explosions- the sounds of a firefight, echoed to his location in rebounding, low reports across the car-filled highway.

Hancock's thruster flared excitedly- he revved his buzzsaw with a scream of the mechanical blade.

"-A chance to kick ass! That'll clear my addled mind, yes sir!" He zoomed over a few car roofs, and was trailing an arm of dust as he sailed over the dirt adjacent to the road. "Here I come, MAGGOTS!"

He flew over the ridge in the hill- lowered his thruster's power to get closer to the ground and not put himself high profile- as, even though he was itching to kill some Raiders or mutant animals- he didn't want to be deactivated while he did it.

Plus, if there was one thing Sanford had taught him- it was that there were other good people in the Wastes, innocent ones too even- it wouldn't be so good to shoot someone like that by accidental reaction fire.

Hancock tried to stay low in an upcrop of dead ferns wrapping around the cragged stump of a long fallen tree- the trunk and canopy having rotted away as nothing more than a half-buried cylindrical bump in the hill's side.

He peaked over the ferns with his ocu-lense- and was astounded to see that there was a series of small structures here- right off the side of the highway. They were stout enough that the hill raise had obscured them from his sight.

He blinked his lenses, and made an intrigued hum.

"Ooo... Good finds in there I'd reckon! -And, HEY-! Someone stole my paintjob!"

They were human, that much was obvious- they were a group of bulky, chiseled appearing humans running about in drab-colored scavenged body armor pieces over dress of fatigues and military grade jumpsuits.

Some of them had bandanas over their foreheads, or old Great War U.S. Army helmets- and they were firing all manner of rifles and SMGs at a collection of people in rags, meshed cage armor and welding masks- Raiders.

There was a trio of dead bodies out in the open by a aluminum shed structure- an elongated warehouse laden with piled junk at its feet, a blown open garage door with a wrecked car sticking halfway out of it.

The corpses were so mangled by bullet fire that it made it impossible to identify their origin from the distance- the army-dressed folk were hiding behind raises in the terrain, a limb of sprawling rubble that drew from the warehouse's indented flank he faced.

A house-like shack up ahead, divided from the warehouse by a small dirt lot- was being used as cover by the Raider group- they hid behind piles of metal storage units, barrels, and a gutted pickup in the center of the lot.

There had to be fifteen of the pillaging dirtbags from where he could see- Hancock didn't know what to think of these boys running around with scavenged army gear.

They could've been a cult, or merc' faction of some kind- he didn't know.

"...Huh, now, here's the time where Sanford's nerd-ass knowledge spree would come in handy." He muttered. "Welp', if both of 'em shoot at me- I'll just kill everyone! Ha-!"

"Unit- Maneuver 6, Flanking has been issued- are you damaged?"

"-WHA-?!WHOTHEDUCK?!"

Hancock whirled around, and came face to face with the last thing he expected.

It was a robot- painted army drab, a white, faded army star decaled over its chest plating- it was humanoid, it walked on two robust, servo-supported legs, and had a laser weapon installed as an aesthetically recognizable 'Eye' in the center of its head.

Two arms, each supporting a joint between a powered energy claw and auxiliary laser guns draped at the thing's sides- it had a feminine personality downloaded in its hub, seeing as it sounded like a monotone woman when it addressed him.

What frightened Hancock- was that this robot, a design, that he knew ALL too well, as an Assaultron Mark, was standing there and talking to HIM, as if it knew him.

...This was... Odd.

"What unit is reinforcing? Where are you deployed from?" The Assaultron asked further. "Are you deaf, you tin-can?"

"...Holy skunks fucking under the barbecue... You ain't no duck!" Hancock snapped. "-But... You... Are... SMOKIN'! Hellll-OOOO babe'!"

Hancock zoomed out of the bushes and flew up right in the Assaultron's face- where she reclined with an angled-back head and shifting stance.

"-Name's Han'! That's Han', for Hancock, tootse! I haven't seen a lass' as fine as you since they brought in pinup models to the barracks in Wake Island!"

"...There, is... Something severely malfunctioning in your central processor." She observed in shock. "What the hell is wrong with you, unit?"

"I think I've just been infected!"

"I-Infected...?"

"With a case of LOOOVVVVEE!"

"..."

"Speechless yet? Alright, honey! Howz' about we skip the cup of motor oil and get right to the part where I, take YOU- to the back of the train and you show me your caboose! Eh? Eh?"

"..."

"-...Oh, baby, you WOUND this Commie' killer! What's the matter? I got something in my lens?"

The Assaultron blinked her central ocu-unit, took another step back- drop kicked the Mr. Gutsy with a lash of her tri-cloven metal boot.

 ** _PNK!_**

"-WWWOOUCH!" Hancock cried, catapulting a foot back- he rebounded off the stump he'd been hiding near with a blast of dust and flung chips of bark- there was a sizable heel-shaped indent in the center of his chassis, just below the center ocu-lense base.

"What a WOMAN!" He muffled through the grass, draped on the ground.

The Assaultron stepped up to him and pointed both of her laser attachments in her energized claws down at him- their cores lighting.

"YOU, aren't Gunner detachment."

"-I'm GUNNIN' for you, if that compensates, sweet-cheeks?"

"You are in the wrong place, Rogue."

"Name isn't Rogue, baby! It's Han'! Han', for Hancock! And you are just, SWELL!"

"I don't care what your I.D. code is- either shut down for future repurposing, or I'll destroy you for scrap."

"No need to get violent and such!"

"You have three seconds."

"I love it when the lady's got a dominant personality!"

"Three."

"-If you let me up, I'll take my buzzsaw off and install that Massage-O-Tron claw I've been hiding for the last month! You'll LOVE that! Like I love lookin' at you!"

"..."

"...You look like I said something wrong, dearey?"

"...Two."

"-B-But- what if I help your friends ward off those Raiders?! Huh? They're your pals, right?"

"...-One, time to di-"

 ** _CLAKK!_**

 ** _BMMMMMM_**

-A wave of heat washed over the brush from where Hancock was sprawled- the stump singed, clumps of burnt dirt flew in the air- and the Assaultron was thrown off her feet away, back the way she had come from behind him.

Hancock's central ocu-lense ducked to the ground lower as an explosion tore into the hillside behind where he lay- smoke and soot clouded around him, and he shot off the ground with a lick of his thruster the second it faded a bit.

He looked back towards where the Assaultron had been tossed- he saw her standing herself back up at the foot of the hill- then he spiraled around to see what exactly had blown up like that.

There was a Raider by the shack- now pocked with bullets and wooden tears from the extensive firefight- the boy was shirtless, filthy as all hell- and wore a literal paper-mache clown mask under some looted, iron helmet.

He toted a missile launcher over his shoulder, and he wore slacks that were hung with stained, wrought iron chains, and what looked like a keychain of human fingers or ears by his hip.

He had finished loading another missile into the receiver- saw Hancock atop the hill from the distance- and aimed up at him- ignoring the gun fire going on around him.

"-SWEET JESUS!" Hancock cried- throwing himself back with a flare of his thruster.

He tumbled down the hillside a discombobulated wreck- right as the hill plumed in a breakage of soil, lick of fire- and echoed a deafening clack of impact across the wastes.

He clanked and cluttered down the hillside like a pile of cans- and landed in a heap beside the still recovering Assaultron.

She had just stood up on her right leg to support the other- sparks were kicking from her left knee servo, and she cursed the sight with a few mumbled profanities.

"Fuck me..." She grumbled.

 ** _CLLMMCBM_**

-She jumped as Hancock fluttered to a final heap in the ridge she had landed in right next to her- she blinked in shock as the Mr. Gutsy model sat immobile for a full two seconds, and shot up to a perfect levitation as if nothing had happened.

"-OOH! Baby! You offering?!" He asked, hide burnt across the front from the blast of the missile.

She looked him up and down like someone would another emerging from a pool of sewage and asking to shake hands.

Reaching out to him- she pressed her energized claw onto the top of his cranium, shoved downwards-

 ** _SHSM-CM_**

-And knocked Hancock back into a motionless pile on the ground, before stepping past him, making sure to give the rear of her cloven foot a drag back through the hillside to make a tiny burst of pebbles and dirt rain one the robot's prone form.

She trudged back up the hill with her knee servo still sparking- she covered the rest of the distance with a quick arc or two of her speed-built legs, and stood at the hill's precipice defiantly facing the Raiders her allies were caught with.

Life signatures already shown three of her creators dead- these people, filthy organics- would have to be exterminated to compensate such losses. To make a point- red energy built up in a swelling gather in her central eye-unit- she leaned forwards- and a beam of laser energy cut through the air ahead.

 ** _VVVMMMM_**

-The beam hit the rocket launcher user in the Raider lines- he vanished in a clouding of crimson and descent of ragged, red chunks- the beam kicked a cloud of dust from where it kept traveling and hit the ground.

Stepping forwards towards the hill's edge- she gasped when the same, stupid, insane Mr. Gutsy zipped in front of her again- as if nothing had just happened.

"-Where ya' goin', baby?" He asked. "I can't let you get all shot up! That's my job!"

 ** _BNK!_**

-She swatted him away like a fly, with a backhand of her power claw.

The Mr. Gutsy sailed to her right- but she had already strode out into the firefight ahead before she could see where he had landed.

The gradual travel downwards from the upraise made it twice as fast for her to close distance- she hopped behind the corner of the warehouse- running straight through the field of contested fire before the dirt lot.

A round bounced off her torso plate- she compressed to the metal ridged wall- and aimed her right arm over the edge- the forearm swiveling in the opposite angle from the servo joints that multilayered her body and limbs.

The laser weapon there sprayed the Raider position with beams of crimson that kicked all over the place and forced their heads down.

No sooner had she done that- did the Gunner soldiers she had advanced past move up from their cover- weapons blaring briefly in the rear ranks to cover their shift in addition.

"-How many of these scum are we looking at?" The Assaultron messaged her query through a com link to the rest of the squad.

" _Ten or twelve plus change!_ " Came a man's voice- she knew him to be Sergeant Hoffer.

"Orders, sir?"

" _Flank them! We're closer now- providing cover- get to a good angle, go!_ "

"Affirmative."

She glanced up at the aluminum roof of the warehouse she compressed to- bent her legs, despite the sparks from her knee- and leapt straight upwards.

She covered the single story of height no problem- landed in a spin around on the shanty roof with a hollow thrumming of both cloven heels.

Hunkering lower- she worked closer to the end edge of the angled, slabbed roof- aimed both claws over the metal at the shack and the Raiders around it- and peppered the front of the property with both battery charges.

She saw vital signs of one of the Raiders cease and two of them flared- she ducked back down and gave her guns a moment to vent steam when return fire whistled over her position and clattered about the warehouse wall underneath.

"-Take this, FUCKERS!"

"-Oh no." She peered over the roof's edge, and what she saw made her ocular scans go fuzzy.

The malfunctioning Mr. Gutsy- the THING calling himself 'Hancock'- had floated up nearby to the left of the shack- flanking the Raiders from behind.

They noticed him shouting- one of them pointed and raised a gun, screaming for her comrades to do similar- however, it was too late by far.

She hadn't even SEEN a missile launcher on the robot- it was probably custom installed.

Whatever the case- the warhead screamed from a small, portable unit on Hancock's third arm end- it looped in the air, corkscrewing- and whizzed over the Raiders in a steamy contrail of black smoke. Before the finality- she got a quick scan of the warhead- and almost gasped for a second time today upon seeing WHY it spun around like that.

It had been modified- expertly so, but with a inordinate risk in material and welding with what its purpose should've been- in other words, if the robot had been the one to make this makeshift deathtrap, he knew his explosives- he was just reckless with them.

She never knew how close she was to that truth- but at the end of the day, it still stood as fact.

Hancock had stuffed that warhead so full of petrolium jelly and pure sulfur extract- that the head itself probably had leakage lines from the sickly mixture on its weld bolts.

It didn't matter though- the missile vanished with a breakage of glass, through one of the shack's side windows- and the whole building lit up like a firecracker.

 ** _-BBBMMMMMMMMM_**

 ** _SSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHMMMMMMMMM-BMMMMMMMMMMM_**

-The whistle of what sounded like pre-War fireworks screeched into the air- drowning out the anguished cries of Raider thugs as the shack practically liquefied in a geyser-like eruption of molten wood and melted materials.

If it were possible for a fire titan from Greek Mythology to have a zit- this shack popped like one of those zits.

Fire and debris rained EVERYWHERE- the sky was darkened with the sheer bright light the missile made from the house's obliteration- a mushroom cloud three stories high sprouted up into the air, and only dissipated when soot plumed downwards in a great belch from its receding power.

The fiery deathtrap blinded every single Gunner that had been advancing towards the structure- the Assaultron heard some of her allies screaming in pain from either being blinded by the flash, or catching fire from the napalm-acute mixture that flew everywhere down below.

There were some Gunners still rolling around on the dusty earth- screaming, and hollering in high pitched throes of men begging for death to leave them be.

It was the most gruesome thing some of the members of the Gunner squad here had ever seen in their times as mercenaries across the Commonwealth- and throughout the whole instance- they heard static-tinged, robotic laughter echoing in the backdrop.

As the smoke cleared, and the crispy stains that drug across the crater of debris became visible as the only remnants of the Raider group that hadn't been totally incinerated- the surviving Gunners peered through the smog.

Rolling on the ground where he had been tossed a foot away- Hancock bucked back and forth on the dirt, arms flailing- laughing hysterically, even as the last burning Gunner twitched still and grew silent.

"-AAAAAHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAAAAAA! THAT! WAS FUCKING AWEEESSSOOOMMMMEEEE! AHHHHHHH!"

The Assaultron stood bolt upright from her place on the roof- and looked down at all her dead creators about the grounds- all of them, except three- were now the cause of that deranged Mr. Gutsy down there.

"-S-Sergeant? Sergeant Hoff?" She tried the communication uplink. "Status?"

" _...chk... HK-Chk..._ "

She looked down and saw Hoff lying on the ground with two of his soldiers failing to revive him with a stimpack injection- there was a chunk of ragged wood sticking out of his throat, and blood was bubbling from his mouth as he choked to death.

The Assaultron looked back towards the still receding explosion, the flat crater that was the shack- and parting through the smog, was Hancock, the deranged robot of the Wasteland's farthest nightmares.

"-So! You boys are with the GUNNERS, huh?!" He called out. "You tried to kill me and my friend a good number of times! Ya' know, I DON'T feel sorry about your crispy friends there!"

Hancock jabbed his buzzsaw at the burning Gunner corpses strewn on the closest premises to the shack's flat.

"I was gonna' apologize, but, fuck you guys!" He aimed his Plasma gun. "No survivors, boys! You know the drill!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	19. Chapter 19

**CHAPTER 19**

 **One Way, Two Way.**

* * *

Everything in this place was old- it wasn't ancient, per-say, and it wasn't even hundreds of years old... But, all the houses had to have been built eighty or ninety years before the bombs dropped.

They were rickety, hazardous little structures- probably awfully cute, nestled, quiet homes of all kinds of friendly neighbors- before the War this place was an average town on the outskirts of the metropolitan hubs on the Eastern Coast- a fringe settlement.

It was amazing how, towards the middle of the war shortly after the occupation of Canada- industries of all kinds started to shift from their primary locations in the East Coast to head over and set up shop on the West Coast- where the war with China was more important.

All kinds of factories that had traditionally existed in places like New York, Florida, New England, and New Jersey- started to abandon or sell their properties and plants to move and build government-funded new ones in places like California, Oregon and Washington.

A hundred years before the war, no one would've ever expected or considered seriously such a major industrial and commercial shift from one coast of the United States to the other. When Europe erupted in civil war, and the middle east followed en suit- there was no reason to keep all that maintenance in the corner of the country where the borders were now sealed.

When Canada was annexed, pipe lines thousands of miles long were built from fresh fossil fuel plants in the Midwest, and were linked to oil industries in Texas and Louisiana- which were then linked to oil plants in northern Canada.

The lifeline of the United States Army ran through Canada towards the end of the war- just like in World War 2, the Army was left unopposed and uninterrupted in a quest to rapidly develop new technologies, new combat techniques, and new ways of training soldiers- while the front was stabilized.

The military- before the bombs -had an overabundance in raw material, manufacturing capability- and just like the Second World War- the United States Army turned into the most highly mechanized, well equipped, and trained fighting force of the century.

There was no limit- but, even no limits can't hold back atomic destruction.

From what Sanford had heard in his travels- the military had actually survived for a short while after the war and the fallout settled- those disbanded units would later break up and become elements of the Enclave and several other army-oriented factions across the waste- most notably, and more heavily- the Brotherhood of Steel.

Sanford found himself curious as he nudged open another ruined, screen door with his prodding fingers- he reached out, shoved the entry aside, and aimed his pistol inside the faintly illuminated interior of the house.

He squinted, seeing a main foyer- doorways leading off to a collapsed former-room to the left, and two rooms to the right underneath a stairwell leading upstairs, where the roof was blown full of cracks and holes.

All the wallpaper was grayed and colorless- a dusty endtable with a shade-less lamp stood against the wall before the two doors after the beginning of the stairwell- and there was garbage strewn all over the rotted carpet floor.

Glancing up at the second floor- Sanford waited for some kind of noise, or movement- as, most creatures that inhabited ruins were never so quiet about their displeasure of intruders.

He heard nothing- and looked over his pauldron to the porch of the home he stood under- edging his head around the left corner of the house's front face to see the Deathclaw just coming back from an examination of the backyard.

"Nothing, monsieur'." She mumbled- large, scaly form leaning under the overhang of the porch roof. "The property behind, and the one next to this are cleared too."

"That's... Shocking, actually," Sanford said. "A place lacking things trying to kill us? That's absurd."

"I personally don't mind it at all..." She shrugged, leaning against the corner of the house with a shifting of plaster and wood. "Go do your thing so we can check the rest of this dumpyard, please."

"Alright-alright, I'm going..."

Sanford heard the floor creak loudly when he set a single boot into the foyer- he winced.

"Oh, I hope this place can take weight."

"Don't fall through the floor again, PLEASE." She chided from outside.

"I'm working on it."

"Mm."

Sanford's boots gave off a rattling shutter of wood, and creak of nails every step.

 ** _creeek_**

 ** _creeek_**

 ** _ceek_**

 ** _cekk_**

 ** _crk_**

-He stopped cringing and pausing halfway through- thought- _screw it_ -and started trotting through the structure freely.

They had been going down the row of houses in the plaza one property at a time- and so far, there really hadn't been anything worth in salvage or monetary value. Sanford still entered each house prepared to pack anything, despite this- the rucksack he carried usually inside the suit over his back, was tied over the X-01's right thigh, unpinned and opened.

Sanford peered into the collapsed room on the left of the foyer- it was probably a television and sitting room at some point- there was a smashed Radiation King brand T.V. that had fallen from a wooden shelving unit, that similarly was broken in several pieces and split down the middle by a chunk of pipe that had descended from the ruined ceiling.

A pair of sofas were buried under the hill of wood and plaster that centered the room- Sanford felt his blood chill when he saw a human, skeletal foot sticking out from under one of the mounds capping the second sofa.

Sighing- he backed out of the room and checked the other two- a kitchen and bathroom connection, and a dining room- the kitchen still full of rusty appliances, a white table broken in half- yellow tiles making the walls and falling off in clusters to smashed fates on the floor.

He avoided the dining room for a moment and hung over the kitchen counter beside the sink- he smiled and nudged a blue plastic bread box with his finger, it crackled in movement on the dusty counter surface.

This place kind of made him think of his old house- he hadn't been there in years, probably because it just made him feel down.

He could barely fit back out the doorway of the kitchen with the suit- there was cracking wood, and he turned around in a startle to see his armored elbows had torn through the arch frame in two wedges.

Sighing again- he peered in the dining room- another table, longer, but unbroken and made of oak wood- a curio cabinet had its doors torn off and a variety of fine china had fallen from inside and formed a pile of white shards on the floor.

Sanford saw a cardboard box laid beside the table- he quirked a brow, and ducked through the frame of the room- putting his arms sideways to avoid another noisy tear-through.

There had been a chandelier hanging over the table- but, all that was left now were ragged ends of chords jutting from the metal cap to hold the chain in place- whatever happened to the fixture, he didn't know.

Two large, rectangular windows had their shutters down on either end of the curio piece- slivers of blue light were breaching the blinds in uneven strides.

Sanford stood over the dusty cardboard box- and drew his gauntlet over the top flaps with a brushing motion- kicking a translucent plumage of gray into the air from two hundred or more years of undisturbed layers.

It was odd... The wastes were so explored, and so mapped- but little places like this, that hadn't seen human interaction since the War, were pretty common.

Interesting.

Sanford read in faded black marker on the box's lid flaps-

 ** _NUKALIZER KIT_**

...What the hell was a Nukalizer?

He leaned and examined all the sides of the box- backed away, and gave it a cuff with his boot's toe- it jerked on the floor and kicked up even MORE dust.

...Well, he figured if it was gonna' explode, it would've done that when he kicked it.

He could be wrong, but- chances were something he lived with.

Braving it- Sanford grabbed the top flaps and pulled them apart and open- more dust belched from the box's insides, and a series of metal, scrap objects clattered inside.

Cocking his head- he bowed closer to see a variety of junk parts were stuffed inside the box- rounded pieces of steel, a circuitry panel of some kind- maybe a repurposed motherboard- there were all kinds of screws and washers gathering at the box's bottom.

What got his interest, was the fact that some of the parts looked like internal mechanisms for firearms- there was a magnum hammer in there, ripped right out of the gun it had come from. Barrels of what he presumed rifles, or maybe even a shotgun- were also piled neatly in the box's corner.

He grunted in curiosity.

"...What the hell was this person doing?"

"Don't tell me you died in there, monsieur'!" Came from outside. "Hurry up!"

"I'm working on it, you angry-panted crocodile!"

 ** _BMM_** \- She punched a wall. "-What the fuck did you just call me?"

Sanford ignored it and stepped past the box and the table- boot nudging some of the glass on the floor.

He took hold of one of the blinds and lifted it with a clattering noise from the window- squinting when the sudden daylight bloomed in his face.

The backyard was a wreck- a giant overgrowth of dead plants, a dead and black tree that sprouted from the rear east corner of the yard- a rickety, rotting wood fence colored dull brown enwrapping and not allowing sights to be seen in the neighbors' yards.

There was an aluminum shed that had been torn down and lay in a pile of scrap towards the west-hand flank of the property- Sanford figured it was worth a moment to look, and he went to drop the blinds and head for the front door.

 ** _BM_**

"- _Boo._ "

"-AAH! JESUS!"

Sanford jumped back when the Deathclaw suddenly materialized from the right of the window and plastered her snout on the glass to scare him.

Holding a gauntlet against the table behind him to avoid tumbling over it- he grit his teeth when the expressionless Deathclaw detached from the glass and gave him an unsettling, toothy grin on the other end.

He'd never seen a smile like THAT before- he knew she wasn't like the other Deathclaws he'd heard about, but... That was awfully unnerving, that smile.

"-C'mon, really?" He grumbled to her.

" _Hurry up already, I'm getting impatient._ "

"I just wanted to look at the shed over there, and then we're done."

" _About time._ "

Sanford back tracked through the house- onto the porch through the front door, and stepped through the fern-brambles consuming the side of the house along the fence to reach the backyard.

Stepping into the brighter light from the sun, that apparently was just starting to break through the gray cloud cover- Sanford saw the Deathclaw already working on lifting a panel of aluminum from the shed's pancaked ruin.

She grunted and the large, ragged, silvery panel flipped over onto the ground with a thud.

Rolling her wrists, she peered inside the flattened remains and looked at him as he approached.

"What could you possibly want... With THIS, monsieur'?"

"I just wanna' look inside, quit whining."

"Call me a- 'Crocodile'- again, and-"

"-You'll floss your teeth with my spine, you'll rip out my still-beating heart, you'll disembowel me- yadda-yadda-yadda- I GOT it, tootse." He waved a gauntlet at her- shifting the aluminum pile as he stepped on it, and lifted another flap to examine a crushed metal shelving unit underneath. "You must be on the rag or something for all this guff you give me..."

Even though he muttered that last part- she still heard him, but she gave him the reaction he least expected- again.

"...Rag...?" She asked.

"...You don't know what that means?"

She shook her head, frowning.

"...Then, uh... Forget I said anything."

There were more scrap parts that were similar to the ones in the box he had found- he brushed them aside to see what looked like a notepad imbedded under one of the smashed shelf's rungs.

He shoved the rung upwards and nudged the pad free with his other fingers- stood back up with the little black book in his gauntlets- and tried to read the little scribble the owner had written in the white nametag on the front, to no avail.

"I wonder what THIS is." He said. "Looks like a school book, or something."

"...Mm, maybe it's a copy of the Boston Bugle's obituary section." She mused. "Hopefully."

"You know what the Bugle is- but not what being on the rag is?"

"And you tell me I'M the one who whines."

"Meh." Sanford flipped the book over- and was surprised to see most of the pages ripped out- but, also, that the one page he found had a fully-drawn wire-frame sketch of a gun, a weapon- and specifically, it was one he never saw before. "What do you suppose that is?"

Holding the open book for her- she leaned down and sniffed at the page, eyeing the drawing.

"How am I supposed to know?" She squinted at him.

"I was just asking... Damn, you ARE grumpy."

"...Sorry."

Sanford didn't know how to respond that. She hadn't just cut it all off before.

Blinking- he saw the gun in the drawing looked like a set of organ pipes- it had SIX barrels, not just one or two- and there were three cylindrical ports on the back, and there was a crank wheel on the bottom ahead of a wood handle and trigger.

...And was that a circuit breaker attached to a RobCo model Mr. Handy suspension drive on the weapon's top?

What the hell was this thing?

He flipped the page- and saw a drawn bottle of some kind of drink- he read a small block of text that had become so faded, most of the words were not discernible.

It was a bottle of Nuka-Cola Quantum.

"-Ew." Was all he muttered.

"What is that?" The Deathclaw hung over his shoulder.

"Nuka-Cola Quantum. Stuff was toxic."

"...Soda?"

"Yeah."

"Why soda, and a gun, monsieur'?"

"I dunno'."

"...You humans are into some disturbed things."

"Can't say you're wrong." Sanford tried to read more of the blocks of text and found that he was gradually becoming less and less able to even formulate which letters were what as the words got lower and lower.

It was probably some old water damage that had ruined most of the things in this book- but whatever the case, Sanford turned the page again to try and keep up his attempt at finding some information.

If there was a big gun around here, somewhere- that was better than his pistol, he wanted it- because he had nothing else until they got it back from the Super Mutants.

"Here's a name... Here's TWO names..." Sanford stated- pointing. "Gerald Thoms, and... Fredrick Ral... I've never heard of them."

"Neither have I, monsieur'."

"I wonder if this was, like," He nodded up at the ruined home. "-Their house, or something."

"Do you think that weapon is on the premises?"

"Hey, look, for all we know it just might be-" Sanford gestured for the crushed scrap items they stood over. "Apparently these parts are spares for this gun, and I found a box full of them in the house."

"You said there were two names, monsieur'?"

"Two, yeah."

"Maybe the gun is at the other human's house."

"...You think... They were neighbors?"

"I have a hunch," She shrugged. "Maybe so, maybe not. We're here anyway, why not check?"

"Alright, well... We have to find out where the house of the other guy is."

"How should we do that?"

"Maybe whichever one lives here, has a phone number written down somewhere, or a records book."

"I suppose you'll be searching for either of those things?"

"It's a gun. I NEED a gun." He held up the pistol. "This isn't going to cut it if a Super Mutant shows up."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

When he had been a small child, the world had never emerged to his waking eyes a land of innocence and curiosities as it did most children- the naivety, the slow ease of learning process- never happened for him.

He had been born in the former state of Texas- to a father he never knew, and to a mother that had disregarded his birth from a beautiful thing, to as something of a hex.

He was born in one of the many tribal confederations that had been developing and fighting each other across the countryside of the Midwest and the borders of the destroyed Mexican State- he didn't remember much of his time there.

It was a tribe calling themselves, the 'Chi' Lan'- and they were vicious when it came to defense of their lands from encroaching confederations to the north and east.

He had been raised mostly by his aunt and uncle- a military family, seeing as both were enlisted with the tribe's warrior clan, and both never left their home without at least three weapons, half of the overall number being concealed.

Texas had devolved to a hell-hole once the fallout settled after the near two-hundred year period of stillness across the country- the tribes couldn't get their act together and were still killing each other, and it didn't help that a marauding group of powerful soldiers had emerged from Mexico.

Invading from the south, this time- aggressors in the name of a warband calling themselves- 'The Vampiros'- conquered the tribes closest to the old Mexican State border- and swept up into Central Texas to start wiping out his people.

Growing up with war consuming his civilization, and the brutality of his warrior aunt and uncle- was a young Laslar Seduun.

Laslar learned how to use a gun at age ten- and he killed a Vampiros warrior at age eleven after him and a few other soldiers attacked and ransacked the village he was living in, killing his aunt and uncle.

However, his aunt and uncle kicking the bucket wasn't what got him angry- because, Laslar had been taught nothing but being as cruel as possible to assure unquestioned dominance throughout Texas and the tribes living in it.

What made him enraged was that he had been forced to RUN all this time- and running was something of a disgraceful action to him.

All the death was irrelevant to him- he felt nothing towards his coward father who had run off, or his hateful mother who had dumped him on the pathways of their village- and he most certainly thought nothing of his aunt and uncle who only trained him because they intended guard duty for him in their home when they were traveling.

Laslar spent two years of his life living in the barren wastes of Texas- he found parts for weapons, built weapons and used them until they broke or he no longer had ammunition for them. He became somewhat of a reaper in the area- the Vampiros had actually become interested in recruiting him for his ruthless reputation.

Laslar soon found he had a great deal of skills laid out on the table for himself- he could operate almost any kind of gun, he knew his way around a blade, he was good at scavenging, and he knew how to craft explosives- but most of all, he was tactically brilliant.

Booby traps of varying kind were a favorite of his- especially ones that wounded, and didn't instantly kill.

Laslar would harass hostile tribes or groups of Raiders- lead them into dark corners of wooded areas or hills- and would wait for them to step into a variety of traps that would kill and maim across their ranks- and then Laslar would jump out and starting picking people off.

Laslar once spent a month of guerilla warfare against a Vampiros unit that had chased him into the burnt woodlands up north- he crafted mines and tripwires on the move- took guns and ammo off of corpses, and attacked the Vampiros soldiers at night and in the morning.

He had killed hundreds of them by the end of the ordeal- and eventually, he was chased back to his old village, which had been razed and rebuilt under Vampiros settlement.

Laslar enacted his rage and vengeance on the settlers the Vampiros warband had started to repopulate sections of Texas with, in the same fury he did their armies- his former village was burned to the ground, and Laslar shot anybody that he saw running from the inferno.

Using an old Brotherhood heavy weapon- Laslar lit the village up like a giant bonfire- and the Vampiros warband started to fracture as he continued to reek havoc across Texas.

Laslar became a barbarian- and while, he technically had no qualms with some effort into what he did best- he always claimed whenever the subject was rarely brought up, that it was- 'Without Class'.

A detachment of the Brotherhood of Steel in the form of the Texan Chapter- soon started to take up residence to the far north, towards the border of the ruined state- they had been searching for some kind of remnant of a Super Mutant army that had existed long before Laslar had been born.

Originally, the Brotherhood detachment sought him out as a potential member to their ranks- but they discovered that people in the tribes did not speak of Laslar as a hero, but as a monster.

The Brotherhood tried to kill him, a handful of times when he rejected their offers at membership- he built himself on veteran experience to outsmart large squads of Brotherhood soldiers that tracked him.

Years and years ago- Laslar had wrenched back on the grip of a Ripper sidearm- casting blood and crimson mist all about his body with a destructive squelch of flesh and the choking hack of a dying man.

The blood tinted the exoskeleton that Laslar had been wearing- stolen from the dead of the Brotherhood- Laslar had been slowly assembling himself pieces of Power Armor to complete his preparation for a one man war on anything that got in his way.

On his knees- draped, and dying- the Texan Brotherhood soldier left the living world as Laslar gripped the clavicle of his silvery breastplate with a stolen gauntlet- he dropped the still screaming Ripper sword, and let the bloody weapon clatter onto the ground.

Laslar gripped the soldier's helmet, and turned it to and fro- smiling when more blood flowed from the ragged gash dug into the dead one's neck area.

"-You won't mind if I take this, will you?" He had asked, venomously.

The Brotherhood soldier just gurgled.

Laslar tore the helmet free of its couplings with a ragged hiss- lightly pressed two fingers into the tan-skinned man's forehead, and tipped him back to rumble onto the ground, deceased.

-Things like that were his life in Texas.

Things like that were his life throughout his whole trip out of Texas for the West Coast- and by that point, the Enclave was thoroughly interested in his service. Laslar had made his entire career based on that kind of suffering- and, really, the best part was, he didn't even process it to such a deep degree.

To him, it was just survival- and if a few feces-flinging civilians in Texas had to die for his escape- so be it, shit happens.

He didn't talk about Texas a lot- or when the Enclave saved him from the NCR soldiers trying to arrest him at the border for his suspicious outlook- at this point, Laslar had done his best to erase most of his past life from his memories.

He was Enclave- nothing else.

The one-man war in Texas wasn't applicable to him anymore- but that didn't stop other officers in the Enclave from asking.

Laslar didn't have patience for it- most of the times, he would just deny it- a quick, curt- 'I've no idea what you're talking about'- or a- 'Whoever told you that is obviously addicted to chems'- would ward off such quizzers.

Dealing with politics in the Enclave was like shitting in your hand and walking around the room with it clenched in your fingers- it was horrendous, drawn out, and mortifyingly nonsensical.

It was why he stuck closer to the soldiers- the governors, the president, and all the science and diplomatic staff were nothing more than suit wearing, pencil pushing pricks to him. Even now, the image of Eden's little computer monitor made his fingers flex in agitation.

His whole body was aching- not just his hands from how hard they kept clenching.

The vibrating that bounced around through the padded seats, into the metals of his Power Armor did not help to ease him- and infamously, the VB-01 models always had a terrible ride when you were sitting in a hold meant for cargo crates.

A good portion of Enclave VB-01 Vertibirds had been modified for troop transport- the interior compartments being redesigned, gutted, and slapped back together with thicker walls for extra circuit and communications connections- with the bay itself shrinking in size.

Laslar had boarded the transport with the rest of the soldiers precisely an hour ago- and now, they were en route to the ruins of the Adams Air Force Base- the place the M-100 Land Crawler had been parked for current operations.

For a good while the thing had been sitting in the middle of nowhere up near the ruins of the city Williamsport in Pennsylvania- but Eden had put in a request for the High Command to drive it down to D.C. on account of dealing with the Brotherhood detachment in the city.

Laslar had voted a positive confirmation in that order- and in reality, all it really did at the end of the day was jeopardize the Enclave's HQ on the East Coast by bringing it closer to the fighting.

If Eden would simply put the full Vertibird fleet into action- half the problems that were befalling the Enclave wouldn't be an issue. Where was the sense?

 _It died._ Laslar reminded himself.

Leaning back in his seat- the row of other soldiers and the team of heavies were silent shadows that sat in their respective restraints, and kept eyes in their laps or at the floor.

They were all wondering what the point of the attack they had mounted was- and Laslar didn't blame them, but, once he devised a good enough tactic, their skepticism would be misplaced.

"How many men did we lose, again?" Sergeant Luft croaked in the seat beside his- the Enclave-variant helmet he wore sneering in the dark.

"Three I think." Laslar shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

"Huh."

"We need to hit them from the east- go through the ruins we saw, rearm our guys with some more Tesla Arcs, and we need air support- gunships, preferably."

"Eden's locked all the aircraft down at the capital rig or in Area-51," Luft sighed. "Unless you petition for the rest of High Command to waver it."

"I'll figure it out."

"What's on the other side of that fortification row?"

"Another fight."

"Another fight, perfect."

"We'll need to press it- hit the Citadel in the weak spot with simultaneous air attack- I'll take the opposite flank and draw fire."

"...You know, you did this tactic in Illinois, and it almost got an entire squad wiped out."

"A needed risk. Besides- we won."

"Barely."

"I'll take some victory over none."

"-Look, where are we headed?"

"Headquarters. We're being deployed again first thing tomorrow."

"Eden know about this one?"

"...Yeah. Yeah he does."

-Laslar lied about that last part.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

When he had stepped inside the house- the first thing he heard was a chittering screech, and the metallic disturbance of something small, and hard hitting the ankle of his suit's leg section.

Raising a brow- Sanford Tobs bent down to see a tan, oval-shaped insect the size of a small dog curled over his armor's ankle- mandibles clenching and unclenching in a chewing motion on the metal.

Pausing in awe at the pathetic sight- Sanford sighed at yet another scuff on his suit- reached down, and brought a fist over the Radroach's head with a hollow **_THM_** \- and crunching sound. Yellow goop leaked from the mutated bug's broken head, and the body twitched and unfolded from the ankle to lay still on the floor of the house.

Wiping by the bite with his fingers- Sanford tsked'- worked his way through the doorframe of the home, and stepped on another Radroach crawling out from beneath a dusty, tattered loveseat.

"-Aw hell, I HATE these things..." **_THM BMMK_** -everytime he stepped on a new one, it rumbled dust from the walls.

The house was almost an exact duplicate of the one beforehand- more evidence to the massed housing projects planned by the monopolies that had basically eaten the United States' economy.

"-Did you find anything in the house-" **_THHML BM_** "-Gah! Damn it, now it's on my heel too... -Did you find anything in the next house?"

"No." The Deathclaw dismissively sighed from outside the doorframe- leaning in under the porch to watch him jerk his boots all over the place to kill big insect after big insect.

Soon, there was a collection of yellow splats and roach husks lying across the foyer of the home.

"This is most amusing." She stated, kneeling on the steps of the house stoop, putting her chin in palms and elbows on the porch- she did that thing again, that apparently wasn't a commonality- she SMILED at him.

"-Glad you find it so HYSTERICAL- Oh-! WOAH! Jeez'!" **_PLK_** "-Did you see the size of that one? Juicy fellow... Eew..."

"Now you know how I feel all the time, monsieur'."

"Not since you're hanging out with the cool-crew!" Sanford defended- looking around for any potential survivors to his insect massacring wrath.

"The 'Cool-Crew'-?"

"Yeah, me and Han' are hip! We don't treat ya' bad! At least, I don't."

"Mmmmm."

"...Oh, hey a bookshelf." Sanford stepped into a room towards the left of the foyer- a second later, after some quiet- a dead Radroach flung through the archway and into the room on the opposite side of foyer- the chittering ceasing with a thud and breaking glass. "DAMN BUGS!"

Sighing, the Deathclaw leant back and curled her tail over her thighs- finding the wood of the steps somewhat comfortable to sit on- she spiraled around with her back to the home's interior, and sat on the stoop with a tiny creak.

Trails of dust whimsically danced in little dust devils across the bare pavement of the road that divided the row of houses on either side- she watched the wasteland natural effects with another dispel of breath.

Bowing her head, she dwelled on her lap and heard Sanford inside, rummaging around through presumably, a book shelf.

"What kind of books are there, monsieur'?" She asked suddenly, not turning.

"...Ahm... History... About... The 'Evolution of Politics'?! Oh, God, the HORROR!"

"...I agree." She cringed. "-What else?"

"...Let's see... Uhm... 'Botany for the Extreme'?"

"That sounds like something a sociopath would read."

"...God DAMN. No wonder this place is a ghost town- these fucking freaks were probably worshipping demons on top of these whacked reading choices..."

"What else?"

"...Uhhhmmm... Oo! What about, 'Tales of Terror and the Supernatural'?"

"...Mm..."

"...Not interesting?"

"...Put it aside. What else?"

"...Alright, sure... And-uhm... Oh, how about- 'Greek Mythology, Volume 1'?"

"...Definitely."

"...Yeah?"

"Yes, I'll read that."

"You sound excited."

"...Is that... Bad?"

"No-no! It's just... No, it's fine, I was just- RIGHT, nevermind, lemme' see what else is in here..."

"Sure."

"How about 'The Study of Biplanes'?"

"...I could try that..."

"Alright, and... Let's see again-"

"-Sanford...?"

"...Yeah?"

"Come out here with what you've got, that's good."

 ** _BMMK MNK_**

"...Or, I suppose you could stay in there...?" She sneered.

"-Sorry, another roach."

"...Oh."

"Just gimme' a sec'."

"Mm."

She closed her eyes and sighed again- head bowed.

She wished she could just sit here- it was nice and quiet, there weren't many places like that in the world anymore.

The town was a little creepy with all the desertion, but... It surely was peaceful when you sat down and just listened to the wind.

She looked back up when Sanford's heavy boots clunked onto the porch behind, and eventually next to her- he held a small bundle of three books in his one gauntlet, and waved at her when she blinked at him.

The gray armored titan glanced out at the street, and bent down to put the books in the rucksack over his right suit ankle.

"What's up?" He asked, looking down at her.

"...Nothing, I just want to sit."

"I can deal with that." He smiled. "I'll check the next one- this one's dry, I'll be back in a minut-"

"Can't you sit here too?"

"...Ahm, yeah, sure, I can do that instead."

Seeing as she took up the whole steps- he hopped down from the porch's wood top onto the grass by the stoop's flank, giving off a muffled thud.

He sat backwards, and pressed the backside of his X-01 against the rim of the porch with a shifting of servos and click of wood. Awkwardly adjusting inside the suit- he reached up and decoupled his helmet with a hissing discharge.

Putting the headwear by his right side on the wood- he turned back and grinned at her.

"So... What's up?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing." She smiled. "Why is it worded- 'What's Up'- precisely, monsieur'?"

"...I dunno," He shrugged with a clutter of metal. "It's been that way for as long as I can remember."

"...How different would this place have looked before the war?"

"That's a heavy question."

"Can you answer it? Or has it been too long?"

"No-no, I can answer it... Uhm..." He held a hand up at the street. "-The, uhm... The pavement would be a fresher shade of dark gray, because people repaved it monthly... There would be green hedges lining some of the yards... The grass would be green, trees would be green... A lot of green."

"You seem vividly able to depict this."

"...Two hundred years ago... For me, it's only ten or something, unbelievable, right?"

"What about the automobiles?"

"Not all rusty and dirty- they would be reflective, bright colors- like red, or blue, or yellow... Or green, again."

"What about dark ones?"

"Yeah, sure... There were cars that were black, and gray, and silver."

"What about the buildings?"

"Same thing, brighter, fresher colors- clean windows, intact doors... There would be birds in the air, and distant car horns, and people talking, or a jetliner taking off from Boston Airport..."

"...Do you miss it all?"

"Of course I miss it all. How could I not MISS it all? I used to be able to walk down the street without any fear of some Raider sharpshooter killing me so his friends could pick at my belongings... I used to be able to walk from my neighborhood to the outskirts of Boston with relative ease and peace... The world has changed."

"If you could hit a reset button, monsieur'..."

"Would I do it?"

"Would you?"

"...I don't know. You know what, I don't know. H-How about you? Any reset button you would press?"

"...This will sound unreal..."

"Nothing is unreal to me- I've seen it all. Whatever it is, I'll take it."

"...Three days ago, I'd have said yes to that button."

"Not now?"

"Not now."

"...That's... That's good. I like that."

She huffed in embarrassment.

He looked at her, and found a big smile developing for seeing how flustered she got.

"...Once you get past the physical barrier, between human and Deathclaw, you really are a cute thing."

"..."

"...-RIGHT, I'll shut my mouth. Good quiet morning though, yes?"

"...Very serene, Sanford, very serene." She smiled back.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	20. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER 20**

 **Tumble and Fall.**

* * *

So far, that had been the only thing to greet them throughout each building they entered- big, fat, ugly, and stout, little irradiated roaches- the most common form of pest to befall the wastes since the end of the Great War.

Sure, it got mixed up a bit- there was SOME variety- a few mutated flies skittered out from windows, or behind cabinets or from INSIDE cabinets in one case- Sanford spent most of his time- 'Fighting'- here, by using his boots and fists to just squash everything.

Apparently this place was bug-town- who knew?

They had crossed the street after sitting down for that brief, yet, strangely powerful moment on the stoop of the house beforehand. The Deathclaw was obviously bothered by what he had said- and he was at first afraid she had taken it as an insult- but, she kept smiling at him whenever he cracked his usual jokes, so, he stopped worrying.

Then, perhaps it wasn't- 'Bothered' -that was the proper adjective- maybe just -'Thoughtful'- it didn't really matter, just more things for him to internally debate. What was really, BUGGING him- (He regretted nothing) -was the copious mutated insect life everywhere.

Something was up with this place- there were no people, there were no animals or beasts- there weren't even Feral Ghouls. All there was, were the roaches and flies- there weren't even BLOODBUGs here, and those things hung out in the filthiest of dumps that the Bloatflies considered trips to the kitty-pool.

It was just weird- out of place. Sanford could see a sewage plant, or the actual sewers having this degree of an infestation- he'd heard stories that farther towards D.C. and Virginia, that there were colonies of giant ants that populated ruins like this.

Sanford wasn't entirely uninformed about bugs- he knew, post-apocalypse or not- roaches didn't make colonies, and neither did Bloatflies. Something was up- he noted it to the Deathclaw as they left the last house of the block- empty, save for a few now-smashed roaches.

"What's the deal with the bugs?" Sanford asked her- glancing briefly while he scraped his yellow, green, bile-encrusted boot heel on the sidewalk with metallic drags on the pavement. "It's just odd, right?"

"I guess I just don't see it in another light, monsieur'," She shrugged- snapping her head down to follow a small Radroach as it crawled from underneath a rusty pickup truck's hood- hopped onto the street- and clicked its mandibles at her.

Grimacing- she reached down and jabbed one of her claw's nails through its carapace- center back- the thing squealed, and she flicked the corpse away like one would do to someone's nose they were having a sissy-fight with.

"I admit, it's getting annoying."

"You think it has anything to do with this gun we're looking for?"

"Do we even know, for certain, it's a gun?" She squinted. "Pour l'amour de' Dieu', it could be an automobile part for all we know..."

"I doubt it," Sanford shook his helmed head. "I really doubt it. I've been working on guns way too long to not know one when I see it."

"Then what is it's ammunition source, monsieur'?" She asked timidly. "All I saw was a soft drink- an apparently toxic, soft drink- on that schematic."

"...Well, did you ever think, that..." He rolled his eyes with a laugh. "-That PERHAPS, the soda-"

 ** _BMM_**

-...

-No, neither of them stepped on another roach.

Nor were they near anything that was made of wood- to have made that noise.

Raising his brow in surprise- Sanford looked both directions on either side of where he stood- he turned around on wheeling boots to the house they had just finished searching, and angled closer in interest.

The Deathclaw was stilled- watching him, watching the house. The nails on her fingers unsheathed from their holdings- her jaw clenched, and her tail was slowly curling back and forth in the air with a sense of anxious curiosity.

Huh- MAYBE, they had spoken too soon about this town being entirely empty.

 ** _BMM_**

 ** _BM BM_**

-It was something made of wood- and it was thrashing, under the duress of being impacted by something. Something getting hit by something- blunt, but accurate for how much information they had to go off of.

Sanford looked back at her and shrugged.

"-Where's that coming from, I reckon?" He smiled. "I bet you it's another freakin' roach, you watch."

"That doesn't sound like one of the insects." She warned.

"-Fine, a really BIG roach." He waved a gauntlet- stepping over to the side of the house- there was a short little white fence, the gate missing, having long snapped off. Sanford walked between the two rotted pegs where the gate once was, into the tallgrass-laden backyard.

"I think it came from here." He called over his shoulder.

"Are you sure?" She asked, glancing both ways down the road- she reached up and started teething over her index finger's nail as she trotted after him. "Monsieur', be cautious."

"I'm trying- I'm trying..."

 ** _BMM_**

 ** _BMM_**

 ** _BM-BM_**

 ** _BM_**

-Sanford found the source of the racket- and it originated right before the broken backdoor of the house- from a pair of rickety, cracked, wooden doors, that were sealed in an upwards angled arch that lead to the most dreaded room of rooms in the old horror movies.

The cellar.

There were a pair of cellar doors- right there, and they were now unmoving, as Sanford leaned over them with a whining of servos and creak of steel- he cocked his helmet at the rusty handles, and kept his pistol drawn at his side.

The Deathclaw rounded the corner of the house after him- stopped on the edge of the lawn- looking at him, and moving over when he waved her.

"Down there," He muttered, nodding at the cellar doors. "You're right, that isn't a bug."

"Should we wait?" She suggested- opening her claws, splaying her metal-rending nails in preparation. "We could take whatever is by surprise."

"...But, don't you think- if it were a hungry, angry predator from here- that it would be, you know... Screaming? Snarling? Hissing?

 ** _BMM-BMM_**

-The doors shuddered, and small tendrils of dust bounced off in a sheet from the wood panels.

A metal rustling sound was heard- the rusty handles jerked and quaked- there was an exasperated grunt from within, and the doors were hit again- a little harder.

 ** _BMM-BMM_**

 ** _BM_**

" _Holy FUCK! I can't break the lock! I can't break the God-damned lock!_ "

"-OH, Oh... Yeaaahhh... That's, uhm... That's no roach," Sanford stepped back. "And that isn't a predator either, I don't think."

"...Is that, a human?" She whispered, eyes wide.

"Sounds like it?"

"Should we... Let him out, monsieur'?"

"...I dunno..."

"What if he's a settler? An innocent person?" She sounded a bit frantic. "-A-And there's a scorpion chasing him? O-Or something, Sanford?"

"-Look, I just... You can't trust people-"

" _HEY! Hey-uhm- GERALD! Yeah! -N-NO-no, I'm up HERE, you loon! I think I hear somebody out there!_ "

Sanford and the Deathclaw looked at each other.

" _...Screw that! We're dead anyway! I'm calling for help- YO! Hey! Hello? HEL-LO?! Can you hear me?! Let us out! HELP! FUCKING HELP!_ "

 ** _BMM-BMM-BMM_**

" _-Look- whoever you are- I'll pay! Just open the damn doors! PLEAASSSEEE-!_ "

" _-STOP THAT! Stop that, RIGHT. NOW._ "

 ** _BMM-fmm-bm-bm_**

 ** _bm_**

" _-Ahem- ah- Excuse me? Hello? Is someone out there? We could really use a hand. Hello?_ "

Sanford- bewildered- blinked, and shook his head.

"Ahm- H-HI! Y-Yeah... Hi, I'm... I'm here?"

" _How ya' doin' pal? We've been trapped down here for, oh, I dunno', a week or two? I'd really appreciate it if you could help us open this door._ "

"...Yeah, I can... I can do that, w-who are you?"

" _Name's Gerald- the baboon hitting the door before, that's Fred- we're a little worse for wear, don't shoot us if you got a gun, please? We won't try to eat you or nothin'..._ "

"...Hold on, I'll get the doors-" The Deathclaw gawked at him- and Sanford raised his arms in animation. "No-no! Don't give me that look! You were having a fit before about me NOT letting them out!"

" _Who are you talking to? How many of you are there?_ "

"-Ahm... Me, and..." He looked at her- and she stood there, pale, unknowing of what to say. "-And a friend. She's... Not... Exactly...-"

" _GOOD GOD! Whoever you are! LIBERATE MEEEEE!_ "

 ** _BMM-BMM-BMM-BMM_**

 ** _BM-FM-bmm-bm_**

 ** _bm_**

" _Pipe-down you twit! Look- buddy, brother- help us out? Please? It's been days._ "

"Oh... Yep, here I come."

Bending down- Sanford holstered his pistol to its magnetic grip on his armor's hip- he clenched his gauntlets' fingers over the handles of the doors, heard them squeak and protest.

He sighed- took a deep breath, and nodded at the Deathclaw to be ready.

He yanked back all at once- the handles shattered into a million rusty pieces- clinging and rattling through the air, off the doors and the ground in chiming, glittering sprawls. The doors flung open- belching out a small mushroom cloud of dust and airborne particles.

A stone staircase wrapped in darkness, only broken by some small light source down below was visible for almost a full second- before a rotted, skin-draped, hideous, open-mouthed, wide-eyed face blocked it from Sanford's helm's eye slots.

It was a Ghoul. It was a Ghoul, and the friggin' thing looked like it was going batshit-insane.

"-HOLY FUCK!" Sanford leapt back- yanked the pistol from his grip- and had just started to aim it at the thing- when the zombified horror shot right past him- scrambled to the center of the house's lawn- and fell on its knees- LAUGHING.

"OH-HO-HO! OHHHHHHH! YEAH! HA-HA-!" The Ghoul raggedly choked, pumping its fists into the air with raised arms and head. "SUNLIGHT! Badda-bing! I'm free! H-Hey- Gerald! WE'RE free! Yah-ha!"

Sanford had let his fingers slip away from the gun- and he stood there with his hands over his helmet- shocked, appalled- unknowing of what was happening.

"-P-People?!" Sanford asked. "So there ARE people here?!"

The Deathclaw was gawking at him again- she was expecting some kind of Ghoul comment, followed by a gunshot from his side arm- yet, she heard him address the beast as a... Person.

What was the deal with that?

"-Oh man- YOU, yes you, sir- Sir, by God as my witness," The Ghoul croaked- standing up and turning around- red and brown flesh that looked like it had started to melt off his body, and then re-solidified- shining in the morning sun. "-Thank you a million-"

The Ghoul went silent- his mouth flapping open again and again- as the speech was sucked from his throat.

He looked at the Deathclaw- and he looked at her with such wide eyes- that Sanford was concerned they were going to roll out of his head.

"OH MY GOD!" Came another raggedy voice from behind them. Sanford and his reptilian companion turned back to the cellar doors- and there stood, ANOTHER Ghoul- with a welding mask, flipped up- on his head, and completely bald on his irradiated scalp. "DEATHCLAW! IT'S A TRAP! FRED! RUN BACK IN!"

"I HATE MY LIFE!" Fred cried- sprinting for the cellar door- he ran with arms extended- leapt into the air, in a spectacular display of panicked acrobatics- and missed the doors completely to the left, where he rolled through the grass, and ploughed into the paneling of the back of the house.

Dust flew everywhere- and some of the paneling cracked noisily.

Angling to view over the still open doors- Sanford had not removed his gauntlets from atop his helmet- and watched, speechless, as the mound on the floor twitched, and this Ghoul- this Fred- lazily raised his head and shoulders.

"-I-I'm not hurt!" He sputtered in report. "-I just lost a tooth- I'm fuckin' good! It was the cavity one anyhow-!"

"...Mister, I dunno' what kind of narcotics my friend here was smoking, but the fumes obviously reached me too," Came in a tiny croak from inside the cellar doors. "Cause' all I see, is a seven-foot Deathclaw behind you, man."

Sanford lowered his arms and peered into the cellar entrance to see the second Ghoul- welding mask still up, and wearing a set of overalls with a white mechanic's shirt under that- huddled up on the stone steps, quivering, eyes locked to the Deathclaw.

The other Ghoul was looking from over the door flipped open on his side.

Sanford considered them- coughed, and pointed at the Deathclaw.

"-S-She's... Friendly," He stuttered. "She won't hurt you."

"-Naw-naw, NO WAY, man!" Fred snapped. "Too much Jet! Too much Jet! Too much Jet! Too much fuckin' Jet! NO! Nope! WEE-WAH, WEE-WAH, WEE-WAH!"

-While the obvious drug addict continued ranting back there- the Ghoul that had been termed, Gerald- stood from inside the doors, still glancing nervously at the reptile.

"-Y-you have a... a DEATHCLAW?" He quivered. "That's- AMAZING."

"Well, I don't HAVE her, she travels with me," Sanford said, smiling at her. "She hasn't given a name, but-"

"-W-What do you mean?"

"I can communicate just fine, monsieur'." She addressed him lowly- still examining the melted appearance of his flesh.

Gerald jumped when she spoke- pointed wildly at her, and then at Sanford.

"-W-WHA-THE?! I-It speaks?!"

"She." Sanford corrected.

"SHE-Speaks?!"

"Yep."

"ASTOUNDING! A scientific discovery no-less!" Gerald practically shouted. "-W-Who are you? How'd you find us?!"

"Name's Sanford, this is my traveling friend- she hasn't given a name, so I just call her Ms. Deathclaw," He shrugged- earning a bewildered expression from the Ghoul. "We heard, Fred? Right? Yeah, we heard Fred banging on the door."

"Unbelievable," Gerald planted a palm on his forehead with a wet slap. "-You hear that? If this man was a group of Raiders- we'd be FUCKED!"

"WEE-WAH-WEE-WAH-!"

"-Oh, for Christ's- SO, Sanford, eh? I'm Gerald, that's Fred, yadda-yadda', you know already," The Ghoul rolled a wrist, standing higher from the steps, and leaning a forearm on the edge of the open doors, still jutting up from the arch. "You saved us, man."

"How'd I save you?" Sanford quirked a brow.

"We've been trapped in Fred's basement for a week- or, AROUND a week, I stopped counting days..."

"How'd that happen?"

"Haven't you run into the fuckin' Radroaches?"

"...Yeah, but... This house seemed, relatively tame compared to the other ones."

"Well, it wasn't so- 'Tame'- a few days ago- the whole neighborhood is swarming with them."

"Why is that? Do you know?"

"...Ahm... Ha-WELL, see, me and Fred have been, uhm..." The Ghoul frowned nervously- still glancing at the Deathclaw- he snapped his fingers over the other door until Fred quieted somewhat. "Hey, buddy, get back in here- go suck on one of your Jet reserves."

"Woo! Gettin' the fix?"

"The fix."

"The FIX! Yeah-hah!"

Sanford was boggled at how fast the other Ghoul stood up- dashed between the conversation, and vanished inside the cellar past Gerald.

Gerald closed his eyes and sighed with a heavy rasp- he looked at the Deathclaw again, and swallowed.

"Look, I got a LOT to explain to you, if you're willing to hear it- to be honest, man, we need help, a LOT, of help here."

"Well, are there other people here?"

"Nope, just us- but we know what's causing the roaches to swarm."

"And I'm guessing you want me to help you kill and-or blow it up?"

"I'll pay, man. I'll pay good."

"-You got guns?"

"A few."

"Lend me some, and maybe we can work something out."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

So, you wanna' know what the greatest pride of the whole day was?

It had nothing to do with the individual traveling, it had nothing to do with running into a fine lass' that obviously was head-over-heels for him- and it had nothing to do with getting into a big firefight by himself without Sanford.

The thing that made Hancock absolutely bawling with laughter, PRIDE, and exasperation- was the gigantic, flame kicking, building demolishing, asshole merc' flattening, hill bulldozing- EXPLOSION, that Clarice had made with that warhead.

The shack was just... GONE.

It was a skidmark- and so were all the little screaming, Raider turds that had been hanging out around it. Even half the Gunners were dead- and Hancock now thoroughly set his sights on eviscerating the last of them.

As such- the survivors of the front ranks- the ones that had been advancing on the shack when it was- bluntly- NUKED, were cut down in green swathes of fire as Hancock rapidly loosed off barrages of plasma.

 ** _CLAK CLK CLAK CLAK_** -The gun barked with each discharge- green bursts of liquidized energy and blood splashing from ruined chests, stomachs and heads- the latter of which, were met with highly stated- 'HA! Headshot!'s from Hancock.

The men hanging over the now dead officer that had been leading them, scrambled to stand up and retrieve their guns- but Hancock shot the two of them dead before they could even stand up straight- two blasts each man, right in the head and ribs.

Bullets flickered off his hide in a few clumps of sustained fire- and Hancock's lower chassis spiraled with a whir of motors- bathing a nearby Gunner in flame from the thrower mounted below the Plasma gun.

The woman screamed and flailed her arms everywhere- spinning around in sickening wheels of her legs- she tried to force aiming an assault rifle she held- but the weapon discharged the remaining clip into the ground, and it flew away when she fell on her back.

The hollering stopped when Hancock shot the flailing fireball for good measure.

"TAKE THAT! Hashbrown-sucker!"

A bullet kicked sparks near the armored vent on the rear of his chassis- with enough force that Hancock floated forwards a bit. He spiraled around and shot once with his Plasma gun- the Gunner popping out from behind a boulder tossed backwards in the air with a chunk of his temple disintegrating.

"-Nobody shoots me and lives! FUCK YOU!"

 ** _CLAK CLK CLK_**

 ** _CLAK_**

"HA! HA-HA! Take that, scumbag! And this!" **_CLAK CLK CLK_** "-Woooo-MOMMA! I could do this shit all day-! HEY, Sweetycakes! There you are!"

-Indeed, there she was, and by all that was unholy she was pissed.

The Assaultron was sprinting down from where she had been atop the aluminum building- having observed her commanding officer's death, and the deaths of all her squadmates- she raised her weapon-packed arms, and unleashed everything she had on Hancock.

Hancock fluttered back with sparks and impacts lighting up all kinds of new dents and scrapes on his chassis- a machinegun attachment he hadn't noticed before- opening from a chest-based mounting in the Assaultron's torso.

Her arms erupted in crimson- and laser beams scythed past him as he flew to the side in dashing dodges- as, Hancock had flown through sustained fire before- no normal human could keep up as fast as she did.

Some of the lances still brushed his armor- and one planted smack-dab center beneath his central ocu-lense arm with a burst of sparks and red embers.

"-AGH! Damn it, woman!" He cursed. "I haven't even asked you to cook for me yet!"

"Time to be scrap, freak!" She announced- the center unit of her head, now glowing crimson.

She stopped a foot away from him- and Hancock had just started to readjust his aim when she fired.

 ** _VVMMM_**

-The beam of red shot out in a blinding display of aforementioned hue and light- it didn't directly impact Hancock's chassis- but the beam glanced by his right lower flank- a hairslength from critically damaging his central thruster unit.

There was a ripping of metal- sparking of electricity- Hancock was jerked backwards, his entire form spinning in a complete circle- his ocu-lenses bobbed, and his systems were screaming of heavy damage.

"-WOAH-OH-AH!" He shouted maniacally as he steadied his flight. "-God-DAMN it, woman! I think you broke my shit!"

"Just deactivate already!" The Assaultron barked- lasers flaring at the Mr. Gutsy for a second instance- now in close quarters with each other- the robots started dashing left and right, backwards and forwards- in the sick dance they held, they actually averted each other's fire.

Hancock had started to actually shoot back- because, now it was pretty evident that the joke was over- and no matter how much his, in quote- 'Sprocket Pump' -would regret the decision of destroying this robot, later- he'd rather shoot her than be dead himself.

Plasma fire started to burn her armor- because, clearly, even though she was faster and had pretty accurate aim and hitting power- Hancock had all that, AND, he was more experienced than her- and at the end of the day, evened technology between combatants could always been tipped by veterans over rookies

Hancock's thruster ignited- and he catapulted clear over the Assaultron's head right as her center-eye unit shot forth another devastating beam of charged laser energy. The shot hit the ground and clouded dust- her sensors screamed something from above.

Right as she whipped her head up- a comet, or, at least what LOOKED like a comet to her- came throttling down from the heavens, aimed right at her.

A ball of light with a contrail of an arm of gray- in it came, vanished by her cloven feet it did- and by the ruined shack as their witness, the explosion wasn't as big, but certainly was a spectacle.

 ** _ffssshh-wmm-BMMMMMMMM_**

She vanished in a flash of light- ripped soil, blackened debris, broiling flame formed yet another mushroom cloud that consumed the local vicinity of Hancock's target, AND the target herself.

Finishing his graceful, airborne soar above- Hancock's laughter was cut off as he ended his travel in the last place he would've wanted to- and that was into the roof of the aluminum warehouse nearby.

"-CRAP-!" Hancock was cut off- **_CRK!_** \- the metal buckled like tin foil, and he tore clean through the roof panel he'd hit- leaving a oval-like puncture in the aluminum.

He crashed through a series of shelves and all kinds of garbage that was piled inside the ruined structure- tumbling and smashing through it all- he now saw firsthand why nobody had set up shop in this little establishment.

Seconds later- he bounced off of something particularly curved, rounded, and made of titanium or some other harder metal- he bounced, with an echoing **_FwwhMMMMM_** \- and crashed through the aluminum wall on the front of the warehouse- just under where his Assaultron friend had been perched earlier.

 ** _CRRK-_** -"-WAGGGGHHH!" **_BMMM_**

-And to add insult to injury- Hancock ended his careen into the rear of a rusted, smashed truck that was parked on the outskirts of the yard the shack had been obliterated in.

He hit the passenger side door- indenting it into the passenger compartment- before slouching onto the earth below- rattling and tumbling down the side of the truck and to the ground with the sounds of a linen bag filled with cans being opened over a flight of steps.

Laid out down there- stunned, a single ocu-lense risen over all the others- Hancock, the victorious Mr. Gutsy, stayed where he was for a good moment.

"...WELP', there goes the start of my harem..." He sighed. "-Damn it! I meet a girl, and she likes explosions like me- and IRONY, that fat bitch- steps in, and I had to blow her up! FUCK YOU, IRONY!"

Letting the silence of the scene settle in- Hancock was grumbling to himself as his central thruster lit quietly- and he soon was levitating over where he had fallen and hit the truck.

Checking all his weapons- he gave a satisfied grunt when each came back in relatively sound condition- but he grew distressed at seeing the scorched gash that was on the righthand underside of his rounded main chassis.

He flipped through his survey reports, and found nothing major had been damaged- but just a few more inches centered of a direct hit- and his thruster probably would've given out, and if he couldn't move in a firefight, he was dead.

"Huh, Chickles' had some aim, power to her!" Hancock tsked. "Too bad she's burnin' in Satan's pot-HOLYJESUSCHRIST!"

-No, she wasn't exactly... DEAD, per say.

But as Hancock examined the blackened scorch his missile launch had made of where the Assaultron had been standing- he flew over to see, that she was very much still active- and the best part was, she was active, and couldn't get up.

Her legs hadn't been blown off- but they were mangled, blackened and ragged- all the armor had been stripped, and fried circuitry cables had belched out from one of her calve sections- her cloven feet were burnt and had their toes missing.

All in all- and she was scorched beyond all belief.

Struggling to move down there, in a crater at least two feet deep with cinders still crackling away- the Assaultron gave off panicked servo-whines and screeches of grinding parts whenever she moved. Her arms were positioned behind her- trying to lift her up.

The glowing red central unit on her head flickered- like a dying lightbulb- and her head rose to focus on Hancock as he floated up there, looking down to her.

"Hey! Sweetcheeks! You're alive!"

"..."

"See that? I'm the crowned- 'Badass of the Wastes' -, baby! I kicked your fine ass!"

"..."

"Don't tell me shrapnel got in your amplifier system! I've dealt with FAR worse than that!"

"..."

"...Oh, so, you try to kill me, and Clarice has her way with you, and you give me the silent treatment? You're COLD, honey!"

 ** _VMMMMMM_**

-"SHE'S GONE BERSERK!"

Hancock ducked down beneath the rim of the crater when her central unit erupted in a star's worth of red light- and that all-too-familiar crimson beam shot right over his chassis.

"-Y-You think j-just b-because my legs are broken- t-that I can't def ** _EEENNND_** **-** myself?!"

"I said nothing of the sort! Lies!" He rose his buzzsaw in protest.

 ** _VVMMMM_**

-And he was forced to snap it back down when another high-powered laser shot flew through its vacated space.

"-I-I'll k ** _IIIIIILLLLLVVVVVV_** -YOU!"

"Well, perhaps if you stop trying to shoot at me, tootse- I'll bring ya' to the best mechanic in the wastes! He'll fix ya'! He's my commanding officer!"

"...NEVER..!"

"- _'Never, Hancock! You're just too Bot-ly' for me, Hancock! But I secretly love you, Hancock!_ '-" He mocked, tweaking his vocal amplifier to sound like the same personality base- after all, RobCo and the other manufacturers had a thing for using the same voice data files in all their models.

"SHUT-UP!"

"C'mon, baby! I'll show you the REAL Commonwealth! We'll kill baddies together! We'll fry Molerat steaks together! I'll teach you the secrets of the United States Barbecue cuisine! And THEN, you'll let me scrub the inside of your MG-compartment belt, and then, you'll get all hot and bothered by the awesomeness of HANCOCK!"

"SHUT...UP... SHUT UP!"

"-And then, you'll be unable to resist the drive of opening your coolant cap for me!"

"YOU... FREAK!"

"And then we'll play hide the sprocket pump!"

"DEGENERATE!"

 ** _VMMM_**

 ** _VVVMM_**

 ** _VMMMM_**

 ** _VMMMMM_**

 ** _VMMM_**

-She started peppering the whole side of the crater with more and more shots from her central eye unit- and Hancock just sat there, in cover, considering the possibilities that were never meant to be, with the same robotic devil that was trying to destroy him, on an atom's scale.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

The basement was a complete, and utter- WRECK.

It stunk like body-odor, rotten food, tinged with the after scent of spilled Nuka Cola on a wet rug- a pretty awful combination, as the world would have it.

Since Sanford was in the bulky X-01 suit- and he didn't feel comfortable taking it off just yet around these two- he couldn't fit to go inside the cellar, and, neither could the Deathclaw- so, Gerald settled for sitting in the stairs, and explaining his peace.

The Deathclaw had taken to sitting in the grass- arms folded in her lap, head hung in sudden boredom- while Sanford stayed upright, standing at the mouth of the cellar door.

Gerald went on for a bit- taking inconsistent swigs of a grimy bottle of, none other than- NukaCola Soda, holding it just below the nozzle and rolling the liquid inside whenever he talked about something in need of greater word count.

"-Me and Fredrick were born here, we're two oldies', you know- other Ghouls called us that- 'Oldies'- apparently it's a big thing if you're pre-War."

"You're pre-War?" Sanford asked, intrigued.

"Oh yeah," Gerald nodded. "Going on two-hundred and ten years now, more or less... Place looked a hell of a lot different than this."

"Remember that hollow roar the jets would make when they'd take off from Boston Airport? It's funny- I was just having this discussion."

"...How do you know what a plane sounds like, man?"

"I'm pre-War too."

"...You a Ghoul under all that?"

"What-? OH, no-no," Sanford reached up, the helm pulled away with a hissing decoupling- he smiled at Gerald, and kept talking, holding the headgear by his hip one-handed. "I was in a Vault when the bombs dropped- they put us in cryo pods- I woke up maybe a decade ago."

"...And... How old were you when you went into that pod?"

"Oh geez'... Uhmmm... I dunno', fourteen? Fifteen? Sixteen? I basically finished growing up in this dump."

"...That's unbelievable."

"I know- she told me the same thing," He jabbed a thumb back at the Deathclaw, who looked up and snorted. "Vault 111 was the one- we didn't have admission, I snuck me and my parents into there."

"How'd you manage that?"

"Bomb fell right as we were entering the area- the soldiers didn't even think of stopping us after that."

"...Lemme' ask you, Vault-man,"

"Yep?"

"I've been hearing stories about some, whack-job guy, and his even whackier robot- shooting up this Raider group out north of here- a few years ago, saved a bunch of people... You know anything about that?"

"...Ahm, I, suppose...?"

"We trade with those people- you believe that? They haven't shunned us because of the skin," Gerald ran his fingers down his cheek with a toothy, yellow smile. "They told us they couldn't, because they were saved by someone who they thought was trouble."

Sanford smiled back at him.

He remembered what the Ghoul was talking about- and, it just proved a further point about how big the world was, yet how small at the same time. THAT, this scene that Gerald was talking about- was one of Sanford's and Hancock's capers- and years later apparently, it was still on someone's mind.

"...Yeah, I think that was me. There was an old guy with a gimpy' leg?"

"Yes! Doctor Higgins! Guy's a riot!"

"Did he tell you a joke about a Radstag pooping in a stump?"

"YES! HA-HA!"

The Deathclaw watched Sanford practically hit it off with this Ghoul with a look of apprehension on the grass behind him.

"Monsieur'," She interjected a bit loudly- making Gerald jump. "Not to be... RUDE... but do we have time for this?"

"-Oh, I mean... Yeah, you know what Gerald, me solving this issue you're having- it's actually tied in with my own problem- I need guns, I have to find a friend of mine, and it's actually my robot."

"Well, what happened to him, man-?"

 ** _BMM-CHASHSHS-_** "-GERALD! Where the hell is my Distilled Psycho?!"

"-...In the pantry, you junkie." Gerald lightly responded with a sneer when Fredrick screamed up the stairs at him- and then tore off back down into the cellar. Something glass shattered.

"-Uhm," Sanford cleared his throat. "We got captured by Super Mutants south of here- we got away, but, me and Hancock got separated."

"Hancock's that contraption's name?"

"Yeah, why? Those settlers mention him?"

"The kids there think he's their- 'Army General' -,cute stuff."

"Wow."

"-So, Mr. Sanford?"

"Sanford's good."

"Alright- Sanford, our problem is not a small thing- but if you help us out, I'll give you every single gun in our possession," Gerald stood up.

"I just need a few- what kind of hardware are we talking about?"

"Rapid fire- light stuff, me and Fred got our hands on some pre-War pit-patters'- I think you'll like 'em."

"Alright, I'm game- and this problem? This has to do with the bugs?"

"See, here's something you need to know- before Fred got addicted to chems, WE, were inventors... Not so much for him anymore."

"Did you guys make a gun? Or something called a- 'Nukalizer' -?"

"Yes! W-Where'd you hear that?"

"I read it," Sanford unflipped the top of his rucksack down from its thigh-mount- and pulled out the tiny black notebook. "I found a notepad of yours."

"...My God," Gerald reached out and lightly took it from Sanford's fingers- holding it, two-handed, under his face. "I haven't seen this book in decades, man. Me and Fred kept it as kids."

"How old is that?"

"This here book? It's, I mean- it's gotta' be around two-hundred years," Gerald laughed. "Amazing- how so much has been destroyed and- and- I... Look at this, this book outlasted my SKIN, unbelievable."

"Was that your home, that we found that book at?" The Deathclaw asked. "It was in the ruins of a smaller structure... A shed? I believe it's called?"

"You found it at Fred's old house. He kept it in there, with spare parts for the Nukalizer- which, yeah, it's a weapon- it's a GOOD weapon." Gerald reassured. "Which brings me to the problem- understand, Sanford, we invented the problem."

"How so?" Sanford raised a brow.

"Me and Fred played around with all kinds of wrongly acquired hardware- stupid shit," Gerald nodded. "We never stole it from the neighborhood, nothing petty like that- but we'd intercept packages in the mail... A federal offense back then, could've been jailed at our ages..."

"What happened?"

"-Well that's how we built the Nukalizer- I haven't seen that thing in years, because we lost it, along with half of our other inventions. Did you see a steeple? Like a church?"

"By the plaza, yeah."

"That's what the roaches are attracted to- and that's where we had our old workshop before we had to abandon it. Place used to be a museum and memorial for the Civil War, old colonial crap, back with muskets and swords- warfare we ain't ever experienced."

"I read about the Revolutionary War," The Deathclaw said. "I know it tied in with the Civil War, in the same era."

"...This, uhm- YOU," Gerald almost referred to her as Sanford's, TO Sanford- but reaffirmed addressing her with a nervous smile. "-Astonish me, and I don't do astonished."

With some small pride, she nodded with a tiny semblance of a grin- tail twitching on the grass.

"Not to stray- but, WHAT are the roaches attracted to?" Sanford queried.

"Right, well- me and Fred were having a shortage of Stims for awhile- which, sucked, because we had to clear this place out a few times when some Molerats took up residence,"

"Okay?"

"So, we tried to concoct a new serum,"

"...Yeaahhh?"

"And, well, the serum... Attracted Radroaches- we don't know why, we never knew why,"

"So, then what?"

"Well a roach broke into the lab while we were out, and, uhm..."

"...Yes?"

"-Ate all of it."

"...Huh."

"-And when we came back, there was, a... uhm... Godzilla-roach the size of a car smashing the place to hell, and, we ran, and... The roaches chased us, and... Here we are!" Gerald grinned cheaply- and that faded to a frown when Sanford, and the Deathclaw too- just looked at him.

"...You made a giant fucking cockroach? And now you want us to kill it?"

"Well, I know how to shoot, we'll help-"

 ** _BMMVM-chshsh-NK_**

"-OH-HOHOHO-YEAH! Aw-aw cccrrrRAP! Gerald?! Gerald, Gerald help me! The Jet thingie- the, what's it called- the exhaler' thingie' is stuck in my nose!"

"...Look, I'LL help you."

"Just tell me, why are the roaches still showing up if the big mother ate all this serum you made?"

"...The roach is releasing a pheromone, or something," Gerald sighed. "Yellow smog, can't see it during the day- it attracts thousands of them from the countryside- I ain't ever seen so many Radroaches in one place, man."

"That means we should burn the body too... You up for that?" Sanford asked the Deathclaw.

"If it means you're properly armed, and, I suppose if it means killing another monstrosity in the wastes, then fine, monsieur', I'll do it."

"-Say, what's with the French accent?" Gerald asked, noticing for the first time. "I'm just picking up on that."

"She doesn't wanna' talk about it, bad past." Sanford held a hand up for him.

The Deathclaw's tail swept through the grass, and she blinked at him happily. Gerald intentionally looked back into the cellar when she smiled at Sanford- the look on such a creature rattling him to the bone.

In the cellar, he ducked back inside- a few words of loud exchange were made between him and his drugged friend. Then, the stairs echoed, and right as Sanford unpinned the safety on his pistol- Gerald came out with two weapons in his clasp- he underhand tossed one to Sanford.

The gun clattered in his grip- and Sanford held it one-handed up to his helmet. It was a submachine gun, the same kind his personal one was.

"Ammo," Gerald stepped over, looking up with a grin to his helmet, and handed him a wad of clips. "It's the only guns we got- we have lots of it sitting around down there."

"I appreciate it."

"No-no, you deserve it, man- you're saving our keesters', and I think the behinds of other people, considering that roach might move somewhere else and take its hoard with it."

"You said that the thing is releasing pheromones?"

"Yeah, cloudy stuff."

"Is it toxic?"

"...Uhm... We never got close enough to tell."

"...I wouldn't take chances," He looked at the Deathclaw, and then at him. "Here's the deal- you both hang behind me. My suit can filter toxic environments- I'll make sure an area is clear before you both come in."

"...But you can't see it in the light-"

"Well, if that's the case, then we should wait for night."

"WAITING UNTIL NIGHTTIME?! Are you crazy?!" Gerald cried. "All the shit comes out at night!"

"If it gives you a better chance at survival, we should do it. You're certain that this stuff is seeable at night?"

"...Yeah, positive."

"Alright, then roach-hunting we go when the sun drops," Sanford looked up, and then at his Deathclaw companion. "What do you think?"

"I think we'll have a lot of roach meat by the end of this. Bon apetit'." She shrugged, grinning.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	21. Chapter 21

**CHAPTER 21**

 **You Got Bugs.**

* * *

Using a combination of pre-War technology- radio and communication systems that were wired to old broadcast satellites left in orbit above Earth by the United States military allowed seamless reports and information to pass fluently throughout the Enclave's territory.

For the few army facilities that still remained in relatively decent working order- daily operations left little difference to be distinguished between the U.S. Army of old and the newer Enclave- thus, Adams Air Force Base, was still very much a hub of activity in post-apocalyptic North America.

While, no- there weren't hundreds of aircraft flying around, and there most certainly weren't thousands of personnel about on the grounds, with staff cars and trucks- the activity that Adams hosted rivaled that of the Citadel in the ruins of the Pentagon for the Brotherhood.

The hangars- while ruined- had been covered with makeshift repairs over their roofs and walls- the circuitry and electrical wires that riddled the insulation of the buildings had been augmented, repaired in sections and rebuilt over.

Years of work had been put into the old Air Force facility to ensure it was running properly- or, at least adequately enough to suit Enclave needs. For while the base acted as refueling depot, repair shop, part-time manufacturer, and stowage for the Enclave Air Force- many of its buildings towards the former housing sectors were owned by the Enclave scientific bureaus.

Experiments were being carried out in the fringes of the base's interior- there was a small fleet of Vertibirds of varying type landed here, there was the M-100 Mobile Base, and currently that supported the president himself- an entire detachment of the 5th Ground Division was housed here too.

The activities of the 5th, the status and orders of the aircraft and their staffs- down to the roots of the Enclave's research into its technological and biological future- were all under scrutinizing eye of Laslar, Eden, and the Headquarters teams of said units.

Painfully- while all these branches answered to him, and were in his observation- because of the twisting snake of politicking in the Enclave's heads of state- all were under orders to accept commands only confirmed in joint agreement between all power brokers.

-Which basically meant, since, Eden was as he was- that if any of his lower officers disagreed with his word, nothing could be done on their part to enact on their divergence of opinion.

The insanity of it all was- that the Enclave had varying degrees of radicalism, ideology, culture of going about the reconstruction of a new country- and every single man and woman in the order had sworn to serve the same thing they nearly gripped each other's throats over.

"There is trepidation, in our comrades' hunches in the West Coast," Eden recited. "There are rumors that the Legion is attacking the New California Republic once more- movement of varying factions are heading north of Nevada for the Divide- a great concern -and to make the matters worse, Mutants, and Elder Mannesk's Brotherhood of Steel are squeezing control of Virginia from us. A full laundry list."

Hanging from a foldable rectangular port in the holo-table's main command room- the blue-tinged, static-laced computer monitor that literally acted as Eden's face and head- turned in expression-mimicking cocks each time the amplifiers droned out his mechanical voice.

A holographic display of North America and former Canada was a ghostly film over a large, rectangular table's top- sported from the beam of a pulsating projector light in the table's center.

Leaned over the table's rim by his armored knuckles was Laslar Sedunn- and the Superintendent felt his skin crawling the more and more he listened to the president go on. It was noticeable enough that some tight-ass from the West Coast- a voice just to enforce some Field Commander named Jameson Tolk and his opinion- had asked if he wasn't well.

Even how this representative had worded it-'If he wasn't well'- Jesus, that was the kind of talk you got from the pampered fucks up in the penthouse offices in Area-51 and the Capital Rig. Nasty shit.

It had something to do with Laslar always being in the field- he was a soldier first, officer second- and while that didn't exactly spell a lot out that his coworkers could agree on- Laslar could firmly hold confidence that nothing would be done to disrupt it.

-After all, where the hell was the big smoke going to get another elite-class, ruthless, and effective warlord like himself? Would a prospector throw away his only pickaxe into the sea? It was foolish to assume any threat really existed of such challenge.

"I realize that, in this trying time of challenges- we have lost many brave members of our ground and air servicemen branches holding back the tides of uncivilized scavengers that gather in our brief stumbling- but this butting of heads will not solve anything,"

 _He just has no conception of when to stop talking, and start DOING,_ Laslar mentally growled. _Grounding fleets of airships... In preparation of what? If it's caution- than the Enclave was finished the second he dumped his brain in the Capital Rig's mainframe._

"Recently, concerns have been raised to the lacking of deployment of our air fleet- and this is one of the reasons I have summoned you all here, to elaborate on each other's opinions and discuss any possibilities of alternative action."

 _This should be good..._

"I believe before we proceed- a few basic bits of what we know, should be on the table for us all to consider before speaking- Superintendent Seduun, if you will? Your thoughts on our setup and plan?"

 _God... FUCK, him. Fuck him and everything he stands for._ -That was awfully contradictory- seeing as, well, Laslar was where he was- but he was too angry to really care.

"We need to divert the VB-01's for transport duty, and we need to use them as supply trains," He whipped out instantly- not even raising his bare head from its bow to the holo-table. "Deploy infantry at high-value targets with gunship AND overhead support- bypass Brotherhood movements and Mutant movements, let them kill each other. Keep a defensive perimeter around the air base and nothing else. Divert forces to assist in securing Area-51- divert the air units in Area-51 for support against the Brotherhood. Plain and simple."

In his full garb, Laslar stood two heads taller than every single man and woman who stood gathered in a small crowd around the holo-table- and, looking up with a narrowing of eyes at Eden- he now saw that all of them were divided between looking to him, or looking to the president.

Eden in his unreadable countenance- made a humming sound of consideration through the amplifiers in the computer unit.

"Anything else to add, Superintendent?"

"Yes. Our entire military strategy is wrong. Follow these procedures, and maybe we can finally redirect enough resources to keep the research departments in proper order, and we can continue to raise our population- seeing as numbers are in decline."

"Now just, if I MAY add," There was an officer to Eden's left flank- wearing the standard uniform with a drab-colored cap over his brown haired head- he was an older fellow, wrinkled- he had chiseled, and thin eyes. "-Your points beforehand are agreeable, Superintendent- but you tread thin ice with bringing up our breeding stock."

"I do now?"

"With all respect in its due, Superintendent, you aren't Enclave blood."

"-Which meant something in the age you passed from to here. We need to start thinking more expansively- to begin plugging in the varying outlets we've been able to reach with our spanning holdings... Mr...?"

"Graham Lohok," The older man gritted his teeth. "I don't appreciate such commentary."

"What? About your age?"

"Aye, Mr. Seduun."

"It's just a factor," Laslar shrugged honestly. "We have three scientific divisions that are not Enclave born- 'Client' -divisions, and they've served us well. May I remind you of the potential effect of outsiders? That one team helped us to improve our techniques on the White House's 'Bio-Weapon'- project we had taken up. They debunked the Type-III Headset."

"That project hasn't seen any results in a decade!"

"Because in our infinite wisdom, we keep siphoning the fucking funding to mothballing our airforce. And why are we doing that in a war-time situation? Does somebody know? Because I've not a damn clue."

"Please, Mr. Seduun, we'd like to refrain from becoming emotional over it."

"This entire thing has been based on nothing BUT emotion," Laslar stated. "The president says- 'Go'- and the lot of you walk off any cliffs or into any trenches in the direction he points."

"-Here is what I do NOT, understand, president Eden, sir," Another officer from the rear of the ranks shouted. "This man continues to butt-heads with your authority! And you allow him to do it! An outsider!"

"Now-now, CHILDREN," Eden chided. "Positions of our station require great group consensus- and sometimes radical experiences put our same perspectives in different eye-glasses, is all. Besides, the Superintendent is our most successful military officer- Mr. Seduun won us much in the West and Midwest."

 _I swear that this man- no- THING, is two faced._

"All I'm putting out there, is that mothballing the airforce will be decreasing upkeep that will no longer matter once there is nothing left to maintain. We need the weapons NOW, not later. There are Super Mutants active all over Maryland and in the city of D.C., the Brotherhood Chapter here is constricting our travel radius, and there are rampant movements of all kinds of armed militants around every single holding of ours- perhaps, not counting bases in Nevada." Laslar pointed at the East Coast on the holo-map put between all of them on the table. "If we can dominate the East, the West won't last long."

"Where do we acquire the manpower?" Eden asked.

"Did I say this would be quick? This is healing a scabbed wound. We maintain defensive with high-priority offensive strikes, we utilize our entire airforce- we replenish the losses after we establish a superiority position over all others."

"And how would we mimic this tactic you are envisioning all at once?"

"You've heard what I've said, and I didn't rant on about it for longer than a few minutes. It's simple- it's so simple I explained it in seconds. If there is anything I learned in Texas, it's that small problems get bigger with age- and that small advantages, become huge advantages.

Ask the Brotherhood- after all, they're divided by Chapter because of over-thinking in their ranks."

Eden made another humming sound- and someone in the room was tapping their fingers on the rim of the holo-table- but Laslar had his gaze locked to Eden's screen, thus he didn't root out the culprit.

The president activated something on the holo-table's panel with a small, electronic bleeping. The map of America and Canada flittered away- and in its place was a translucent, blue, representation of the Type-III Headset ring that Laslar had mentioned before- part of the old project he had temporarily held charge over.

It was a thing from his past, he squinted at Eden when it was brought up.

"What's that for?" He asked.

"If you think, that you can change the direction of the Enclave so easily, as just one man," Eden suggested. "Perhaps you can start... Smaller?"

"What are you talking about?"

"The old Bio-Weapon research project- all it did was prove the Type-III did not work on the subjects in the way we wanted. Find me a solution, find US, a solution- the extra soldiers would surely make your goal easier."

"...Always scrounging, buying time, Eden."

"Pardon?"

"God damn you."

"Anyone else, Laslar, would be held accountable for such words."

"But it's me, and where the hell are you going to find another ME?"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

"That conceded, self-absorbed, power-hungry FUCK!"

 ** _BM_**

"-I would be better off staging a coup'! Risking civil war- the Enclave will be driven to the dirt under that machine's word! Damn it! God-FUCKING damn it!"

 ** _BM-BM_**

"-NOW, I've been tasked. He uses deployments to delay my word, to delay what I'm saying, because what I'm saying makes sense!"

"What you're saying, challenges Eden's leadership. You think Eden will give up office over YOU? I don't think a day goes by where Eden doesn't regret having you brought to the rig years ago."

"Well FUCK him!"

One of the many stowage lockers in the quarters barracks now had three sizable dents put in the gritty surface as Laslar vented his rage on the door- his bare fists, not even bruised- leaving knuckle-shaped marks.

The jumpsuit over Lalsar's form was practically glistening with how much he was sweating- his face was red, and his brows thinned, compressing over his eyes. Every now and again he'd sneer at the air- and he'd been pacing in the barracks chamber for several minutes now.

Sergeant Luft was seated on his cot- fiddling with an old, wooden cigar box that he kept his favorite smokes in- he ran his thumb over the top, brass lock on the bottom chin of the box as he spoke with his leader.

Laslar stepped over to the containment pod that had his armor hung inside of it- a glass receptacle capped with silver with a drab-colored rear wall inside that was laden with suspension cables and pylons to keep the parts of the Power Armor frame from shifting.

Glancing through his reflection in the glass- Laslar and his chiseled features, his pale white skin, his muscular body that appeared to have slabs of lead or titanium wrapped over bones to simulate his strength- they were not what he looked to, to view himself.

He locked gaze with the green lenses of his helmet- and the more and more he stared at it, the more and more he felt like he had removed his real face, his identity- and was letting it hang inside the pod overnight.

"This is a disaster. The Enclave is going to crumble."

"It's amazing how much you care," Luft shrugged- his darker skin contrasting against the pure white sheets of the cot he sat on. "The entire staff was wrong about you."

"From when?"

"From the beginning."

"How so?"

"Multiple ways. Some detrimental, some beneficial."

"If the Enclave goes, we ALL go."

"That's true."

"...Eden wants me to restart a project,"

"I heard."

"-It's the Bio-Weapon one. The one they dug up out of the vaults in the White House."

"Deathclaw experiments?"

"Deathclaw creation."

"You were head of that project."

"I was. Eden's putting me in a prime directive. He's giving me full access to the 7th Division."

"But they're in New England."

"That's where they're sending me."

"What's in New England?"

"The 7th claims an old test subject, of mine, is still loose and free, and that it's killed some of their guys."

"...Is this a person?"

"Heh," Laslar sighed. "KIND of."

"Why hasn't this been a priority before?"

"It was a side project," Laslar snorted, turning from the containment pod. "When she broke out I couldn't imagine the little shit surviving more than a day. Turns out I was wrong- turns out, the Science Divisions have had elements of the 7th chasing her for years."

"How many years are we talking about?"

"God knows- close to a decade. They haven't gotten this close before. No one was killed, before."

"So now it's your problem?"

"Eden, made it my problem."

"Sir, not for nothing, but this could work out more favorably towards yourself. Eden grabbed the hook, but the Science Division hung it there. Help them solve that issue, and, who knows... The Science Division may hold some kind of strange kinship."

"OR, they could use the results to turn over to Eden."

"...Or that, yes."

"The Enclave's a crapshoot, and it wasn't always a crapshoot."

"You prolonged the old age of prosperity," Luft mused. "But all big, heavy, and bloated things must hit the ground someday."

"...I suppose my aerial operation is to be canceled."

"You're worried about civil war only NOW? Your plan before would've outright evoked it."

"Going against Eden's orders?"

"Going against Eden's orders, AND using Capital Rig assets to land in the Citadel," The Sergeant raised a brow. "What were you thinking?"

"For the Enclave, and for myself. We tell no one. Those plans never happened. They were never plans."

"Uh-huh."

"...This'll be interesting, anyway, I suppose... I haven't been to Boston in years."

"Mm."

"So now, I need to wrangle a bull to get my sword," Laslar turned around, and punched the locker door for a fourth time- **_BM_** -"-What. The. FUCK!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

In the daylight, Sanford was able to walk around the exterior of the town with a bit more comfort to his step, now holding the fully loaded SMG, with spare ammunition available from his belt and his rucksack.

The town was still hauntingly silent- and, it seemed apparent that he and the Deathclaw had gone around killing so many of the roaches, that their numbers this time around were starting to thin.

So that's what Sanford did to preoccupy himself for a few hours- he'd go from house to house, and he'd step on, squash, smash, rip-in-two, every single Radroach in the buildings with his gauntlets and boots. Now, as he was thoroughly coated in insect guts on his heels and fingers- the Deathclaw followed him around and usually resorted to watching the slaughter, as she could not fit in most of the structures Sanford entered.

"Do we really have time for this?" She muttered to him at one instance- and she said it low, because Gerald had taken it upon himself to start walking around and helping him kill roaches for the sake of it. "We have our own priority, monsieur'."

"What priority is that?" Sanford asked with an obviousness of dumbness. "Finding Hancock? I thought you hated Hancock."

"I... DO," She snarled. "But I know his demise would be intolerable for you."

"I guess you really do plan on sticking around," He smiled at her under the helmet. "That's freaking awesome."

"...Mm."

"Look, Han's either gone already, or he's looking for us in turn- and if I know Han', he's headed for our home, the old gas station, remember?"

"...Mm."

"I'll help these folk out- it's what me and Han' do when we come across it. You'll get used to it."

"If you insist, monsieur'."

"Yep."

"-Hey, uh... Sanford?" Gerald interrupted from a few feet away, behind them. "You ever have problems with the Minutemen?"

"Who? Those militia folk?"

"Yeah, man."

"They don't like freelancers unless they OWN the freelancers. Me and Han' have had scuffles, but... No shooting or nothin'."

"That's good."

"Why?"

"The settlers are under their protection contracts- recent stuff, from what I've heard."

"They know about this roach problem?"

"So they've said," Gerald shrugged, toting his SMG two-handed across his gut. "Bigger problems I guess..."

"If the Minutemen do show up," Sanford talked to the Deathclaw now. "You need to hide. Head for the outskirts of town, I'll find you."

"...I don't like that idea," She frowned. "Those militia runts have shot at me before, who says they won't shoot at you if they find out I'm with you?"

"Then I'll deal with it," Sanford reasoned. "They'll be less inclined to shoot a guy in Power Armor who puts his weapons away, and tries to talk to them- in the stead of, well... YOU."

"Touching."

"Sorry, but it's the truth. The Minutemen are tight asses. Anything they don't have tabs on, makes them edgy- democratic control freaks, what a combo."

"Do you think they'll arrive, Sanford?"

"I... I actually hope they don't. It couldn't be that ironic, right? They show up on the random day we do TOO, I mean... That's the crap you read in bad fantasy books..."

"...Speaking of books, you still have the ones we found?"

"Uhm... YES, yes I do," He mused in revelation- leaning down to check under the flap of the rucksack. "You want one?"

"The Greek one."

"Alright, one Mythology tome coming up..."

"-HEY!" Gerald chimed in- watching with wide eyes as Sanford pulled out the tan-colored, worn, and aged book whose cover had whittled away. "That's from Fred's old library! You took his books too?"

"I didn't know they were Fred's," Sanford shrugged. "Do you... Want it back?"

"No-no! I was just... It's funny... Ironic, eh? Yeah if you want 'em, take 'em, it's not like I have time or he can even process the English language on paper anymore... Old books, man."

"I'll take them home, give them a brand new shelf. But first- you wanna' read this one." He handed the book to the Deathclaw- who, watched his outstretched gauntlet, and then raised her palms to twiddle her fingers- and their nails -at him.

Sanford's smile started to fade, and he looked down at her claws, and sighed.

"Oops."

"...I didn't even think of it." She huffed. "I'm so stupid."

"Nah, honest mistake- hey, Gerald, I'm gonna' join my friend here for a walk, you feel alright checking the last few buildings?"

"Yep, I'm good. Only done this a thousand times, man..."

"Are we making a dent? We've killed at least a thousand of them."

"They all come back after a few days whenever me and Fred clear HALF the place, I'll give ya' this- you're quick, man."

"Thanks."

"See ya', brother."

Gerald went off course from the street they had been on- and Sanford gestured for a porch nearby, similar to the one on Fred's apparent house that they had taken the books from.

The Deathclaw grunted as she bent down and sat on the stairs with a creak of wood- adjusting her long legs to get somewhat comfortable. Sanford leant on one of the two beams that supported the overhang on either side of the stairs' top- the whole house creaked from the weight on just the one spot.

Glancing nervously- he sighed at his jumpiness.

"I seem to have a habit of smashing everything I touch now, with this thing..." He patted the breastplate with his free gauntlet- giving off tiny, metal pings.

"I'm sure it's fine, monsieur'."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Why are we here this time?"

"I'll help you turn the pages and open the book," He said with a grin. "I'll be your- 'Personal Page-Turner'- ha!"

"You don't... HAVE, to..."

"I didn't have to do a lot of shit that I wound up doing," He shrugged. "Doing the right thing keeps my humanity. My coping mechanism, I guess."

"That's very modest of you, but, really... It's a bit... Much."

"...Do I look like I care?" He chuckled. "Let's go, c'mon."

He put down the SMG, took the book back out of the rucksack, and carefully flipped the cover open to the first page- the metal tabs on the tips of his fingers sliding against the paper noisily with each flip.

He held it- pinching both sides of the book, and she carefully reached upwards and cupped the spine in her open claw- musing at how small the tome looked in her large, scaly, reptilian hand.

She bent her head down more, squinting, and laid her eyes on the first words she had seen, in years and years of time. It was just big enough for her enhanced eyesight to decipher- but she still felt swimmy, a bit lightheaded trying to configure the paragraphs she saw.

It was an OLD book- this was more than 200 years old. It had faded prints of oil paintings in it to go along with the words- the cover page and glossary had a depiction of a photograph, showing a stone statue of a man with goat legs from the hip down.

She raised a brow, and snorted at it.

"...What's with THAT, monsieur'?" She nodded.

"I think that's called a Satyr," Sanford squinted too, leaning past her one shoulder. "Greeks came up with some weird stuff."

"...Mm..."

"...Do, uh... Do you need help...?"

"...With...?"

"...With... Reading... It?" -He expected a slap, or a cuff on the dome- maybe just a snort. But she just blinked up at him, shook her head, and bent back down to read.

Leaning back from it- Sanford supported himself on the column beam behind him and sighed- closing his eyes as he faced the street ahead.

The three of them hadn't cleared the entire town- it was pretty big, from what Gerald had told them, and by what they had seen. The settlers that lived nearby had a makeshift camp and lodging set up in some old apartment complex nearby- it was close enough that you could see the building in detail not even a mile away on the northern outskirts of the development.

The town was built nearby a railroad station and unloading yard to the west- and then to the east was the old farmlands, and that was where he and the Deathclaw had come from.

Two-hundred years had erased so much of the structuring that people had made on the East Coast- because it was already in disrepair to begin with, and people were moving away, and old farms and plantations started to become a thing again.

Terrible what man had done to this world. Terrible.

Thousands of years humanity had spent building itself up to technological Godhood- all for what? To blow themselves the hell up. Something was wrong with his species- for all the good people that existed, something was just so wrong- and the scary part was, it was part of man's nature.

Sanford thought about it like that sometimes- a philosophical rant in his own head. He played with his tongue between his molars and exhaled.

"Page." She muttered behind him. "Please."

"Mmhmm."

He bent down- took the book, flipped to the first page and went wide-eyed at the huge introduction paragraph inside, and laid it back in her open palm.

The Deathclaw receded away shyly and kept on reading.

It was probably a blow to her pride- needing help to operate a BOOK. He didn't blame her for being so evasive of prolonging each page-turn exchange.

"Page."

"That was fast... You skimming?"

"PAGE."

"Alright-alright."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...So, uh... What'chya' reading about-?"

"...Page."

"...Yep..."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	22. Chapter 22

**CHAPTER 22**

 **The Puzzle just smacked together.**

* * *

Given, she'd read about a good number of things- and this was with the limited resources she had and the limited access to literature on top of that. Books were a rare thing- any kind of books, big fat multi-chapter novels, historical tomes, catalogues, memoirs...

She hadn't read hundreds of books, but for the few she was able to read in full- they had depth, heavy logic and sometimes debate of logic, and they were written by very smart people, enlightened people. She always had a contempt for humans- but oddly, she enjoyed the way they wrote.

As she trekked the wastes in constant travels, some books had fallen into her claws for quick browsing. A long time ago, she had wandered into a library- or, the ash and rubble filled REMAINS of one.

Some of the bookshelves still had tomes in them- and while most of them were destroyed, or burned- she found a copy of some coverless text with missing pages, that detailed the height of the Roman Empire, the fall of said civilization, and the emergence into the Middle Ages.

Two topics had always piqued her interest over others- and those typically revolved around Antiquity, and Medieval- two eras of time that, unspeakably, had seemed darker to her than today, and that was saying something, obviously.

People living short lives that were confined to small communities, their homes- if they had any -filled with squalor and disease, such death and fear rampant, and all of it stemmed on peoples' standing with God and religion- things that were supposed to be good and accepting, drove people to become judging and to promote evil things.

Through her interest in Medieval times- the terrible things that were happening reminded her of what was being dealt to her in current days- as she read about the hardships of the average man or woman, she felt like she was reading about, maybe, 'People'- like herself.

People that had had a hard life, people that were afraid, people that were strong and were pushing through the muck to some end they didn't even know was good or bad. She wasn't human, but she was a sentient being- and, seeing these stories gave her some hope.

The age of chivalry was claimed to be dead, according to a lot of those books- LONG after the Middle Ages had come to a close. But... After she had read so much on it... Was it really?

There was no global law that could be thoroughly maintained in Medieval Europe, and people relied on trust and honor of their neighbors, and people had to learn how to defend themselves- there were knights both good and bad, and armies mixed with just and unjust soldiers.

Today, there certainly was no law in the Wasteland, and people did rely on each other in the most substantial trust and honor-bound ways since the age of swords and bows, people had to defend themselves and their friends and family- there were armies of good and evil that covered the swathes of America.

All the world had done was revert back to the Middle Ages- the only difference was, people's thinking was different, there weren't as many people, and instead of sharpened steel being used to kill others, people shot each other.

Medieval Europe and post-apocalyptic United States really, bare bones- were not so different.

-Thus, Greek Mythology, the tome she read, was a fresh breath for her creative side, her thinking side.

Her attention was drawn specifically to many of the deities in the Greek pantheon- Zeus, Hades, Poseidon, Ares, Athena- brilliantly thought out Gods and Goddesses, that, even though at the end of the day didn't exist- were so powerful and elaborate in their depth, that people were inspired by them thousands of years later.

She spent a long time reading about the three big players- Zeus, Hades and Poseidon- she spent less time on Hades, as, the description of the Underworld and River Styx started to make her feel rather grim- and that wasn't why she had started reading, to feel grim.

She brushed past the subject of a Goddess- or, maybe a lesser known Goddess- named Nyx- and for the lack of material covering her traits, she was described as powerful, and apparently had alternating origins and mothered deities depending on which philosophers recorded it all.

Nyx, overall- was the Goddess of night, and she was powerful enough that Zeus had a better inkling to not anger her wrongly.

The more and more the Deathclaw read of this- 'Nyx' -the more and more she became fascinated by it.

"Page." She muttered to Sanford when she finished reading a paragraph depicting Nyx's history, during the process of the creation of the world and universe, under Hesiod's Theogony.

When nothing happened- she grunted and looked up in annoyance at the standing hulk of armor beside her- and squinted when she heard a faint, long, hissing breath inside. Sanford had his arms draped, helmet slumped- he was snoring, lightly.

Growing annoyed- she felt like cuffing him in the head for napping when she needed help- but, that felt rather... Stupid, to do.

She was grown up- she could figure shit out on her own.

Grinding her fangs- she looked down at the accursed book that she had nearly finished- and reached up with her other claw- raising three of her fingers up, and making a pinching motion with her pointy and thumb.

She spent a meticulous moment jamming the tip of her thumb nail into the division of page on the book's side- then, she tried pressing her pointy's nail as flat as possible on the paper above where her thumb was.

It was like a giant trying to read a toy book meant for a stuffed animal- pretty comedic- she was all hunched over, tongue flicking out from her chops at the side as she slowly moved her claw.

 ** _chth_**

-And her nails tore a tiny chunk out of the page when she finally flipped it over.

"Vas te' faire' encule'!" She snapped. "Damn it."

With an exasperated sigh- she finished overturning the page- eyes locked angrily to the ragged tear she made on the side of the paper.

Sanford made a snorting sound, and a few- 'Wha-wha...?'s- and -'Who-what-where...?'s. Then, he was back into dreamland with a shuffle of metallic plates and the ruckus of his padded combat armor shifting around inside the exoskeleton.

Huffing at him- the Deathclaw raised her claw and brought the book closer to her snout, squinting her yellow eyes.

She'd already torn the stupid thing- her page turner was out, and she was only halfway through the book- that was just a calamity. Though the resentment for her clumsiness was numbed by the fact, that at least she was able to read a book today- she didn't get to do that a lot, as per mentioned.

So putting aside her huffing and puffing- she kept reading about this Greek Goddess- this 'Nyx' character. It was interesting, because, for all the power that this Goddess held, over dark and nighttime and fear- she was relatively untapped with the well of knowledge revolving around Zeus, or Poseidon.

A powerful, somewhat forgotten deity. That was what she was thinking.

Of course, she did not know how other pieces of literature or article portrayed Nyx, or how many others actually portrayed her at all. But as she eyed an oil painting print that took up the entire other page from where she read the last paragraph of the bio- she traced the cherub-like appearance of the Goddess' face, the rounded, chubby contour of how the artist represented curvature in her body.

In this picture, where Nyx was shown with a robe of shadow, looking over hills in the natural world of Greece below at her feet- she was... Beautiful, and so had every other representation of her been beautiful as well.

It kind of put her off, and the Deathclaw made a brief bad habit of running her top fangs over her bottom chop- before she flexed her thumb and shut the heavy book with a dusty - ** _PMK_**.

"-WOAH-! H-hey... Oh hell, I dozed, I'm-I'm sorry..." Sanford mumbled in a quick recovery- yawning through his speech. "-Sorry, I bailed on ya'. Need the page turned?"

He looked down at her with a stretching convulse inside the armor- noted how she extended her claw towards him with the book shut, and blinked in surprise.

"Damn, you're a fast reader." He stated, lightly taking it from her palm- she noted how he did his best not to brush her hide until he retracted with the text and shoved it back in the rucksack over his suit's thigh.

She still had another quarter of pages to go- but, she felt a little emotionally tired, and didn't have the energy to say much of it.

"Yeah." Was all she muttered.

"Was it alright? Or was it boring?"

"Interesting, monsieur'."

"Ah, that's good."

"Mm."

"I wonder where Gerald went..." Sanford gazed around them at the street and houses- he looked up, and saw that the sky was becoming a little darker, like a damp cyan. "It's getting late. If this monster has poisonous chemicals, we sure as hell should be able to see them."

"Do you trust Gerald?"

"No. But he gave us a gun," Sanford admitted. "Even the crazies don't give their intended victims guns."

"Did you make sure it worked before assuming that, monsieur'?"

"I can tell- see the bolt isn't tampered with," He raised the SMG from where it had been laid on the ground nearby- and pointed at the bolt function drawing down the gun's side. "And then here, the safety pin hasn't been tampered with, and I can tell because it still has the factory-finish sealant in... this... area... here..."

He blinked as she just looked at him rather blankly, eyes narrowed.

Swallowing, he backed off with the gun, and coughed inside his helmet.

"Uhm... You have no idea what I'm talking about, right?"

"Nan'." She said simply.

"I guess I really have become too fixated on the guns- just, look," Sanford aimed the SMG ahead, lining up the iron-sight peg on a lightpost across the street. He compressed the trigger briefly.

 ** _CLK_**

-A single round flew out, ricocheted off the metal of the pole with a quick spark, and clattered off the street in a few pocked of dust.

"-It works, tootse', don't you fret."

"Stop calling me that." She grinned.

"Or else what?" He asked with a hint of competitiveness.

"I'll MAKE you stop calling me that."

"Ooooo... I'm shaking in my pre-War manufactured boots!" Sanford exclaimed with a chuckle. "Don't hurt me!"

"You're asking for it, Sanford."

"I've been asking for it for half my life- and I'm still kickin'."

"Abruti'." She sniggered- leaning over, and giving off a metallic cuff as she butted him lightly with one of her horns on the waist of his suit.

Sanford felt himself grow a bit uncertain, awkward, when she did that- but he did his best to keep it concealed in his behavior- he laughed at her, and asked her what 'Abruti'- translated to.

"Jerk." She clarified.

"Oh, that's lovely."

"Mmhmm."

"Maybe I should give you a French name to call you by," Sanford suggested as he pushed the safety back down on his gun, and stowed it by his side. "I haven't read much French. Hold on, I'll think of a word..."

"Oh this should be perfect," She grinned, leaning her chin in palm towards him. "Impress us all, go on."

"How about- ...I think I heard it as- PESCE'! Yeah! What about Pesce'?"

"...That's Italian, you verrue'."

"Oops."

"And that means -'Fish'- so you're a double verrue'."

"Sorry. I heard some old guy call another old guy that one time in Diamond. How do you say fish in French?"

"Possion'."

"And how do you know Italian too?"

"I'm not fluent," She shrugged. "I know a bit of Italian, Greek and German."

"Haven't heard you say any of those."

"...I suppose, they just don't... Resonate with me, as much as francais'." She said longingly. "...It really doesn't matter, I just..."

"I hate that I keep bringing up the subject of your past all the time, and I keep doing it unintentionally," Sanford stated after a pause. "-You know, I'm sorry. I keep asking questions that aren't my business, and it obviously- whatever happened -bothers you."

"...It's not your fault, I just..."

"Well it kind of is. It IS. And I'm doing it without meaning to, because you're the first person I've talked with, and traveled with, in years besides Hancock. And Hancock's my best friend, but, the opportunity, the excitement of a new set of ears... It's made me overeager."

"...Sanford," She sighed. "We're both... At least, I believe- suffering from some of the same things in different ways. Neither of us have others of blood relation, you have one friend and I had none-"

"-HAD, none, huh?"

"...Uhm- W-Well, I just-"

"-I'm sorry, I interrupted, ignore me, keep going."

"-Right, monsieur'-uh -S-Sanford. We're both very solitary, and... Bad things have happened to us both, and we've clawed our way through them..." When he was still listening intently, she reached up and wrung her wrist in opposite fingers lightly. "My point, LE' point- I cannot hold that against you. I get it."

"...Hm."

"So... You don't, have to apologize for it."

"...I... Alright," Sanford nodded. "Okay."

"I think you've been a good ally over the last few days. I think I see a very good thing for both of us if I stay."

"...This is... Perhaps, the most honest you've talked to me."

"...Don't get used to it, you chimp." She rolled her eyes.

"Noted. And yep, I'll keep it all in mind, I believe you."

"...Mm." She shrugged again, now musing. "Never thought I'd be -'Buddies'- with one of you."

"I never thought if me and Han' got a new party member, it'd be a Deathclaw. A FRENCH, Deathclaw- ha! This Wasteland is fucking insane. I like it."

"Admirable."

"...Say,"

"Mm?"

"What does 'Verrue'- mean?"

"...Wart."

"Wart?!"

"A wart. I called you a wart, monsieur'."

"I'm not a frikkin' wart!" He laughed.

"Mm." She chuckled.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

In the daytime, the building had seemed quite forlorn, a little hexed even- the place radiated a dark atmosphere during the times of the high sun- and now, that it was getting more and more dusk out, the steeple in the center of town looked hellish.

The building was made of old paneled wood- chipped, matted with burns, moisture damage, cracked with actual lacerations in the material, and some dead brown vines that snaked out from some of the rusted gutters.

A rectangular center with a pyramid-like indent of a paneled roof made the center of the structure- a longer rectangle section branched out with three stained glass windows on one side, and a plain wall on the other side, also paneled in roofing.

Small slot windows dotted the walls of the center building- and behind that, the towering steeple head with a belfry top jutted up into the air, its paneled roof cap cracked, and long having fallen off in chunks- if there had ever been a large bell up there, it wasn't there anymore.

Sanford stood across the street from the front stone steps of the building's front face- there was a rusted wrought iron fence that surrounded the small plat of grass immediately at the building's stone base chin.

Sections of the little fence had been ripped away over the years- and what tallgrass had started to eat up the property was now dead, brown, and drooping in masses. By one side of the stone stoop and steps leading to a big, red wooden door- the skeletal protrusion of a fern existed, blasted, lifeless.

Sanford held onto his submachine gun two-handed- he had it over his armor's breastplate, and he sighed with a shifting of steel as ambience from the exoskeleton suit.

There lie another challenge, another peril, another horror to stand before him in the wastes- and, where most people would avoid it outright, there he was running in the wrong direction, TOWARDS the danger.

Where had all that trepidation he had felt upon leaving the Vault gone? It must have taken a hike over the last few years.

Hancock was always preaching about- that he was too hard on himself, that he was- of all things -a HERO. And... Sanford just... He just didn't see it in himself.

He didn't see a hero standing where he was- he saw himself. He saw a boy who had been tossed out into the jaws of death, and had clung to one of the fangs to avoid falling into the maw for years. Sanford shot more people than he saved- he destroyed so much, he saved so little, and he created even less.

He couldn't see what Hancock saw- and he certainly couldn't see what some other people saw. People hailed him, people cheered him- people had broke down, cried, and hugged him when they had never even offered loved ones in their lives that modesty.

Sanford felt so awkward whenever that happened- he didn't think he was a hero.

-Though maybe, it was just that he didn't WANT to be a hero.

...Was there really a difference? How would one deny being a hero? You just didn't look at yourself in that kind of light, a simple idea, a solution that couldn't backfire unless you let it... Right?

He wasn't a hero.

Never had been, even standing before another impossible feat- he was not a hero.

...Right?

"This place gives me the creeps, man." Gerald muttered from beside him. "But I'll brave it if we can kill this thing."

"...Uhm... Y-Yeah, yeah... We'll do it." Sanford sighed- cutting off his thoughts. He turned to look down the slightly shorter Ghoul by his right. "This a good hour to see this thing's farts?"

"Ha," Gerald chuckled. "Yep. Should be. Listen, I dunno' if it's toxic anymore than you, but... It was worth noting."

"I understand." Sanford gazed over his left pauldron as the Deathclaw's thudding footsteps came to light behind him, and then next to him. "What do you think?"

"Ready as I'll be." She sighed. "Pour' le guerre'."

"You said that you had a lab in there, Gerald?" Sanford asked the Ghoul.

"Yeah. Me and Fred took up shop a few years after all the crap settled from the bombs," Gerald said. "All those years of work, probably completely destroyed by that roach."

"Is it really as big as a car?"

"The size of a fuckin' SUV, you'll see." Gerald warned.

"How does it fit inside the steeple if it's that big?"

"It's underneath, in the basement level- me and Fred cleared out everything except the support beams- took us a year."

"...What else were you making in there?"

"Different ways to defend ourselves. The Nukalizer was just one weapons project."

"You have to show me how that thing works when we're through here- if it's still there."

"I'd, GLADLY, do that, but first- we have a roach problem."

"Noted. Alright, here's what we're doing- I'm in front, Ms. Deathclaw is behind me, and you're behind her- sound good?"

"How come YOU'RE in front?" The Deathclaw almost whined.

"...Because I have the nearly impenetrable, environment sealed suit? C'mon." Sanford patted his breastplate with a few rattles.

"What about that breach, man?" Gerald pointed at the gashes that had been made in his suit's gut section. "Doesn't that let air in?"

"It's more of a protection problem," Sanford admitted. "The suit has bio-gel that'll keep the user locked in his or her own air bubble. Don't worry."

"Alright, man, just making sure."

"Let's get this over with. Fried roach, coming up." Sanford started to trot across the pavement- the Deathclaw lined up behind him, and Gerald tentatively fell in step.

As if warning the Ghoul to mind his space- she glanced over her shoulder at him, and in the dark her yellow eyes lit up pretty dominantly- she snorted loudly, and it made Gerald jump.

Smiling his horrid teeth at her- she ground her mandible and turned back to Sanford as he stepped on the first step of the stoop.

The stone actually made a crackling noise as the weight of the armor suppressed it's near ancient structure- Sanford waited for a second, shoved against it with his heel a few times, shrugged, and traversed all four steps with one clack after the other.

The big red door stood there in a menacing slight contrast from the dark frame and wood all around it- a slight outcrop from the paneled face of the steeple formed a bit of shade over the door's top, and two wood pillar beams were lined against the wall on either side.

Some bent, protruding nails and a fainted, rectangular shade on the rim above the door symbolized the presence of a now absent sign- Sanford blinked at it, glanced back down, and stared at the door.

He listened for a moment- and zipped his eyes about the internal holographic HUD of his helmet, he blink activated the heat signature scans.

He gasped when the entire building took on the usual greens and blues that most structures did in the exaggerated shading of the heat-sig view- but there were hundreds, no- THOUSANDS, of tiny red splotches that were gathered in hordes throughout the structure.

Sanford saw activity on the ground floor, and a second floor above that- he looked down at his feet, and grunted in annoyance at the heat-sig scanners' inability to see into the basement level through the ground.

This wasn't good- there were a LOT of them.

Sanford turned back to the Deathclaw, who had her one foot half on the first step of the stoop- she blinked at him, and Gerald glanced over her hip to show he was unpinning his SMG's safety.

Sanford turned off the heat-sig scans- checked his own gun, sighed, and reached up to turn the door's handle.

 ** _CLK-CLK CCccccccrrreeeeeeeeaaaaaaakkk..._**

-As the big red door slowly slid aside- a slight blue hue of illumination from the somewhat-present light in the dusk sky contrasted against the pitch black of the steeple's interior.

Sanford leveled his gun with the inside of the archway- he blink activated another sigil in his internal HUD, and a flashlight droned lowly in the air as it activated, and sent a bright cone of white into the steeple's wooden floor.

Like a pillar that swam through the inky dark- Sanford slowly turned his helmet about to scan the inside of a large foyer- a paneled, rotting, section-breached and cracked wood floor expanded out into the depths of the structure.

He looked up- and the beginnings of a railing on a second level, above the large frame of fallen double-doors became highlighted before the thickest dark that he wasn't close enough to start piercing.

Sanford checked the actual air itself- to see if he could make out any hints of a color, or debris floating about- and other than some swirling particles in the cone of his light, there was nothing else he could see.

He took a step into the frame, and his boot made a grumbling scratch on the wooden floor- a panel creaked.

Looking to both sides- he leant forwards and peered inside the structure- where the light met both side walls of the foyer, layered with peeling plaster, empty wooden picture frames. Some end tables and shelves were up against the western left wall, filled with destroyed items, raggedy piles of ruined books.

The right had two big display boxes held on wooden legs and bases- the glass tops were shattered and the side panels spider-cracked- whatever contents existed inside, were no longer there.

Two staircases lead up to the second floor on the left and right- with wood railings that were missing limbs and sections- a human skeleton lay in tatters in a collapsed avalanche of bones on the right stairs. Sanford could also see there used to be a pretty big blue or gray colored rug that centered the paneled floor here.

He took another step inside- and the wood creaked again.

-But... Something wasn't right about that creak.

It sounded like wood, of course- but there was another sound that was mixed in with it- something else playing behind it.

Sanford inclined his helmet down- and listened.

 ** _clclklklcklkclkclkclklcklckclklkclckclcklkl..._**

-It was... Clicking. Like a chittering noise- it sounded duplicated times ten.

Sanford's eyes went wide.

 ** _CLK_**

-And then a cinder-block sized shadow fell from above, and clattered on top of his shoulder pauldron.

"-AGH!-What the-?!"

A Radroach as big as his head made a tiny hissing sound as its tan, slimy coated wings fluttered in the air over its fat, ringed abdomen.

Sanford reached up, gripped its head, and squeezed until its screeches stopped, and it popped like a zit- leaving trails of yellowish/white bile to breach the creases of his gauntlet's fingers.

He shoved the corpse off ahead of himself- flicking his gauntlet to rid it of some of the goop clinging to it.

"Damn..." He growled.

"Are you alright, monsieur'?" Came from behind him.

"Yeah, I'm fine- I just have more bug guts on me. MORE, how many more can we possibly be-" He looked up at the ceiling, and the cone of light from his lantern, obviously, followed. "-... Oh my God."

 ** _CLKLCKLCKLCKCLKCLCKCLCKCLCLCKCLKCLCKLCKCLCKL_**

-There had to be at least six hundred of the little shitters up there.

There were hundreds, upon HUNDREDS of Radroaches that formed a sick, upside-down carpet across the ceiling panels of the foyer's roof- little heads turning about, wings fluttering, antennae touching other antennae and now- all starting to point down as the light focused on a mere group of the greater body.

"...Back away, we'll let them come to us." Sanford muttered over his pauldron. "I said back away. Back away NOW."

"-What do you see?" Gerald asked as the Deathclaw slowly stepped off the stoop- he walked to the side of the stairs and asked again as Sanford started to clear the doorway. "What do you see, man?"

"I said back the fuck up! Come on, we don't-"

 ** _CLCKCLKLCKLCKLCKLCLK_**

 ** _-BM_**

-Sanford wheeled around, and saw a roach that was an exact duplicate of the one he had just killed land on the floor in front of him.

He reared back and planted his boot over it- spattering bile across the wood, and flattening the creature's midsection with a sick crunch.

"Get back! C'mon what the fuck are you both-?!"

 ** _BM_**

 ** _BM_**

 ** _-BM-BM_**

 ** _BMBMBMBMBMBMBBMBMBMBM_**

 ** _CLCKCLKCLKCLKCLCLCKLCKLCKCLCKLCK_**

-Now there were hundreds of roaches falling down from the ceiling- in clumps, in duos and trios- like if someone threw a gigantic truck load of rice-pudding on the roof and watched it drip off, before flowing down in a torrential downpour.

The floor was alive- and the tan, brown, and yellow mass shuffled all on a centering zenith in Sanford's angle, and the doorframe.

And people thought Radroaches were a joke.

What the fuck?

"SHIT! Shit-shit! SHIT!" Sanford drained his SMG's clip in a sweep across the front ranks of the swarm- killing tens of them, only to see the corpses enveloped into the greater tide.

"Why is it always a fucking SWARM?!" Sanford barked, switching clips in seconds- and draining that one too. "Why can't it always just be one or two?!"

"-Sanford! Problem!" The Deathclaw called over to him.

Backing out from the archway a bit more- Sanford drained his third clip into the oncoming- dangerously close- swarm, stepped on a roach that got close enough- and glanced up at the Deathclaw, who was nodding to the building itself.

Sanford followed her stare- and saw a single, slot little window on the right side above the door, close to the shingle roof of the steeple.

Even in the dark- Sanford could see the inside of the window moving- and the glass shattered in a tiny bout of flickering debris into the night.

Like oil leaking from a crack in a tanker truck trailer- a mass of chittering chitin and fleshy, slimy roach hide poured from the little window, and started crawling and falling down the front of the building, into the grass adjacent to the stoop.

Gerald started shooting at the new swarm, and the Deathclaw readied her nails in a swiping noise from her fingers.

 ** _CLAK_**

-Sanford looked at his ankle, and saw a roach clinging to it in a bodily-hug, almost.

He bashed its brains out, bringing his bunched fist down in a spattering crunch, and ping of steel.

Another roach leapt onto his very gun- and Sanford grabbed it by the head, squeezed until it shattered, and threw the little cadaver over his shoulder.

 ** _CLAK CLAKCLKCLKCL_**

 ** _CLKCLCKLCLCKLKCLKC_**

"-AGH! AGH! Fuck! Not good!"

Tens of roaches were now all over Sanford's suit- the very hide of the X-01 looked like it was alive, just as the steeple floor had been.

His SMG was lost somewhere in the swarm- he tore into the insects with his bare gauntlets- ripping them in half, crushing their heads, crushing their abdomens or thoraxes- his arms lumbered, and corpses tossed and threw.

There were just too many of them- and his suit was filtering warning alarms in his hearing from the sheer weight that was being added onto him from the mass of mutated bugs.

"-GAH!-DAMN IT! -G-GERALD?! -D-DEATHCLAW?! GAH! FUCK!"

-Through the chaos, his suit gave off an alarm, and text flittered into his vision, transparent.

 ** _***WARNING***_**

 ** _FOREIGN OBJECTS DETECTED IN BODY SLEEVE_**

 ** _***WARNING***_**

"-O-Oh God-! No-!"

Reaching down on instinct- Sanford found the bulging abdomen of a roach jutting from the very fissure made in his suit by the Deathclaw days ago- the legs were kicking everywhere, and he felt something physically brush by his midsection inside the suit.

Sanford ignored the hundreds of insects all over his armor- he tugged the roach free with a tearing of chitin, grabbed both ragged ends of the insect- even though he could see none of this, as a roach was plastered over his helmet- and tore the beast in two.

"-God DAMN IT!"

"Sanford!" The Deathclaw called over to him- herself using her heels and claws to slash tens of the roaches that were trying to gather in front of her. "Sanford back up to us!"

"-WHA-AH-OHHH!-SHIT-! I CAN'T- I CAN'T SEE-!"

Some of the roaches were dying because they were biting at his gauntlets- and the Tesla breakers in his knuckles were shocking them to death.

Every time he stepped or moved a boot, he killed one or two of them- and with each arm swing he sent pairs of them flying into the stoop or ground.

Sanford couldn't take this much longer. They were going to get inside the suit.

For the first time in years- Sanford panicked.

"-RRRAAAGGGHHH!" He stormed forwards, trampling tens of the insects and throwing several off of himself- and right as the roach over his helmet was gripped and crushed in his gauntlet's grip, he saw the stoop, and tripped on the first step.

 ** _BRRCK_**

-Then he fell forwards, and he tumbled UP the steps, and into the doorframe of the steeple.

 ** _CCLKCRASH_**

-And it broke at the rims from his flailing arms and legs in two clouds of dust.

Sanford kept up a tornado as he piled through the swarm inside the steeple- he tripped again in the confusion, and the very floor gave way when the suit face-planted into it.

 ** _BBMMMMCRASKK_**

-Dust and chips of lumber flew everywhere- Sanford felt the sensation of weightlessness- all the roaches on him had been torn off, or had fallen off- now he fell, ironically, THROUGH the floor again.

The air time was brief, and even though the chittering of the roaches had stopped- the blaring crack of concrete now rung thick in his ears.

He hit the bottom.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	23. Chapter 23

**CHAPTER 23**

 **The Brick Wall came down, but there was another behind it.**

* * *

The motors of the passing Vertibird patrols were always the first thing he woke up to in his quarters of the Base Crawler- even though he was in the center structuring of the thing, the inner spine before the Headquarters chambers and Eden's command center- the Vertibirds' rotors still echoed distantly throughout the halls.

Laslar sifted himself free of the cot, and within moments of rejoining the living from the world of sleep- he had downed a pot's worth of caffeine, slipped on his jumpsuit, rinsed his mouth with anti-bacterial solution, and was stepping into his Power Armor inside its containment pod.

He stood in the exoskeletal suit as the pod shut behind him with a hissing repress of the glass barrier- the systems in his helmet, the environmentally sealed inner sleeves, the life support and electrical motors all flickered to life.

The Tesla projectors on his shoulder pauldrons fried the air they touched with hums of pulsing, green energy- the air around Laslar's suit shuddered, like caught in a heat wave, and settled as the refractor field was established.

A pair of maintenance Eyebots flew in upon his summoning- they used standard joint-gel on all the servos of his armor's limbs, they fine tuned his HUD and holographic monitoring, and they ensured all the adjustment systems were working in order.

When the robots flew out the sliding bulkhead to the barracks quarters- Laslar was just stepping out from the armory chambers with his Tri-Fold Plasma Archer hung over his back magnetically, sidearm at his hip, Ripper behind that.

Joining him was Luft, and the four new transfers that they had received as a squad for the transport.

The six men were going to be temporarily attached to the 7th Division that was operating FROM Raven Rock, here in D.C.- but was actually acting in New England, particularly around the ruins of Boston city.

Eden claimed that if Laslar could restart this project, his chances at reform would be greater- this old research effort to train, mind control, and subsequently weaponize creatures called- 'Deathclaws'- that, on paper, were known to the United States armed forces as, Subject 16G.

Deathclaws had entered their precursor stages of what existed today under the vault-like laboratories hidden under the White House in D.C., Area-51 in Nevada, and the Dugway Proving Grounds in Utah. The U.S. Army had commissioned the research in the stead of human augmentation- which, up until the very end of the war, had been a series of failures.

The species had been born in an omnipresent conglomerate of varying events- in addition to the army creating the base, the genetic skeleton for the monsters to become what they currently were- mutation within the very genes of the creatures brought them to phase two all their own.

The military had wanted them to have intelligence- some form of cognitive ability to think for themselves on a battlefield. They knew it was risky- but, then again, half of the projects undertaken by the United States were risky, and insanity had firmly gripped a good portion of humankind.

Subject 16G evolved at a rapid pace- specific genotypes within the Iguana lizard species were used as the stepping stones to reaching the full blown monster roaming the Wasteland- when the bombs dropped, the radiation finalized their speed, dexterity and perfected battle doctrine, and coupled it with pack mentality.

Some of the Deathclaws were effected differently by the fallout- and where some went wild, and turned into beasts that hunted for food and sport- others retained intelligence, and the radiation actually amplified it.

'Intelligent Deathclaws'- had at one point been a unknown, but somewhat largely populated thing. There were packs of them that had existed, and some of their communities had even sparked alliances with human settlers.

The Brotherhood of Steel, the Enclave, Mutants from the Master's army were all responsible for hunting down these viable specimens- and intelligent Deathclaws dwindled, and the survivors went into even deeper hiding.

Laslar had only seen intelligent members of that race in the labs- he hadn't seen the full process of the project undertaken by- 'Volunteer'- teams of scientists that had been assembled from prisoner intellectual minds taken during the Enclave's brief conflict with the NCR.

The war with New California resulted in heavy losses for the Republic, slight territory gain for the Enclave to secure Area-51, and the Dugway facility- the tradeoff was, that the NCR had been well prepared for anti-aircraft defense- and the Vertibird fleet in the West was thoroughly mauled despite low ground casualties.

The war that had occurred beforehand with the Brotherhood western Chapter was a good way for the Enclave, and at the time- President Richardson to buy time to bolster the divisions in the west in preparation for a conflict.

Laslar hadn't been engaged for most of the NCR-Enclave war- but when he was recruited, the first missions and deployments in Enclave colors had been against the Republic.

Shortly after the war ended and the NCR offered a truce- which, Laslar felt apprehensive of, but understood why Richardson had accepted it- he finalized the project that had been started to begin the process of using mind-controlled, bred Deathclaws mixed with Enclave units.

It was ironic- a decade ago, the same creature he was now hearing of, had been a tiny whelp- and the scientists were programming its brain to understand different languages, different combat techniques- she was going to be a specially designed- 'Commando'-breed, and they were only going to make a group of five or six.

Of course, when the Deathclaw was old enough, and Laslar had the scientists transferred for auxiliary labor in the East- she broke free and escaped into the central United States.

Laslar at first, was thoroughly enraged by the news- he personally executed the entire science team when he found they- in a sense- turned a blind eye to security procedures to keep her contained.

The Brotherhood, lead by Elder Mannesk- settled into D.C., and then split in two when it turned that Mannesk was doing the opposite of what his superiors in the Midwest had ordered- conflict sparked with the Enclave at Raven Rock and Adam's Base.

Still angry- Laslar tore a bloody swathe through the Brotherhood in D.C.- and the first mind-controlled Deathclaws were used, to a disastrous result.

The Type-III headsets that were being used to control them, caused the Deathclaws to emerge into a blood frenzy- they didn't just attack Brotherhood soldiers, they attacked EVERYTHING, and several Enclave units took heavy losses when their Deathclaws turned on them shortly after the cages were opened.

The surviving Deathclaws were destroyed- the Type-III was scrapped, the project was blacked out in all files- Laslar spent the next few years battling the Brotherhood in D.C. to limited success- he spent a long time operating the defense of Area-51 from the many threats in Nevada, he solved ground engagements across the country back and forth.

Now, still having failed in destroying the Citadel, still having failed in wiping out the Super Mutants emerging from Vault 177 and Virginia- Laslar's failed Deathclaw project was being used as a distraction by Eden, so the president could stay unquestioned in power.

It was disgusting- the Enclave was in trouble- soon, casualties would start to become an issue, and the Vertibird fleet would suffer from the air defenses in the Citadel- he could see the NCR war starting all over again.

The ironic sight before him- none other than a VB-02 Vertibird- rumbled the air it scythed through, the rotors beating through the net of atmosphere above in a repeating pattern. The aircraft leaned its chin up as its speedy travel towards the landing pad was halted, and it gradually started to lower to the ground.

The tri-fold landing gear unfurled in three separate limbs from beneath the craft's underbelly center- thin little things that upon first glance, didn't look like they could support the aircraft's weight.

Steam hissed, gear whined in cool down and the propeller rotors whispered as they slowed and eventually stilled, the Vertibird settled with a creak of steel, and the side hatch entryway of the vehicle's flank lifted ajar, giving sight to the darkened bowels of the troop hold.

Laslar and the five other men in Power Armor he had been officially sentenced to travel with- looked inside the Vertibird with a sense of misdirection.

All around them, the multi-layered, stilt platform held landing zones and defense batteries of the M-100's top and roof formed a sprawl far to their west and east, and so far behind and in front of them that the end was not seeable.

Another pair of Vertibirds zoomed overhead- and Laslar watched them go as well, and sighed underneath his snarling helmet.

The pad was devoid of all other staff- only a few officers were by the pad's leftward rim, and they didn't even grace the scene with a glance as they chatted about something unimportant.

"All aboard then," Luft grumbled- filing the four soldiers ahead of him- he turned to Laslar. "You coming, sir?"

"You notice something?" Laslar nodded up at the air.

"What's that?"

"The sky looks like shit."

"...It always looks like shit."

"Yeah, but this is D.C. shit... What do you think New England shit looks like nowadays?"

"You've been there more than I have, shouldn't you know?"

"I haven't been there in years. I don't remember."

"Suppose it's better than late than never to remind yourself."

"Mm." The two of them stepped up on the raised rim of the Vertibird's porthole, ducking with whines of servos to not bump their helmets on the top arch loop. "Eden give you the rundown?"

"Not a thing." Luft grunted, as darkness, and a slightly cooler air ambience hugged them.

"We're landing in an old water pumping facility- Braggman's Treatment Plant, the 7th is put down there."

"Do they know where this thing you're looking for is?"

"Went off the radar."

"...So... What? You plan on just combing the place? That's impossible."

"I'll find it, don't worry your head off."

"You seem confident."

"I oversaw its creation, I know where to look and how to look. I have those 'Claw kills from Texas for good reason."

"Aye'."

"Let's get this bullshit over with, gentlemen," Laslar said, falling into his seat with a heavy clunk- the restraint arch fell over his shoulders, coupled, and the hatch leading back outside slid closed- leaving only the slight red gloom in the dark bay. "We're flying straight for New England- no refuel at Raven."

"So you're saying you MADE this creature?" Luft asked as he tugged on his restraints for security.

"Yeah. It's a Deathclaw- tough fucker. Evaded the 7th for years- broke out of a maximum security facility in Adams around a decade ago."

"Is it intelligent?"

"Oh yes."

"That makes this complicated. More so, at that."

"The 7th has autocannons on their VB's, and the thing still hasn't gone down."

"...If this is a motivational speech to get the men confident, you're failing terribly, sir."

"All the more incentive for you shits to keep up and fight hard. Do that, and you won't die. Simple."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Sanford remembered that there was an instance in his life, where he had been hit by the hardest object he'd ever been physically impacted by.

It was a brick.

A blackened, red-shown, blown in half brick- and it happened, probably, give or take... Five years ago? Six years ago? Didn't matter.

There was an explosion in the city, in Boston- him and Hancock had been locked in yet another firefight, the endless pattern their lives revolved around- someone threw an explosive, it went off- and even though Sanford avoided the shrapnel, avoided the fire, avoided the blast... He didn't avoid that damned brick.

 ** _CLOK!_** -Wham, right off his forehead it went. It left a little square shade of red on his noggin, made him tumble back with a hand over his face- and he groaned in pain for a good few minutes while Hancock drove off the attackers with his flamethrower.

It was a good return of favor too, what Hancock did- after all, a few days prior, Sanford had killed a Mirelurk that attacked his friend when he had been prone. Thus, as the dust cleared, the last highwaymen dropped dead- Hancock tugged Sanford up, and examined the damage, before laughing in his face.

"HAHAHAHAHA-! HA! HA-HA!" Hancock burst. "You survive rockets, bullets, lasers and wads'o'freakin' plasma- but my commanding officer gets done in, by a BRICK! Ha! HA!"

"You shit-filled olive oil can..." Sanford had grumbled.

Long time ago that one was- really, ALL of the exciting things that had reentered his memories in the last few days had happened awhile ago. After all, Sanford and Hancock hadn't had any real activity, any adventure, in months, going on a year.

And, then came all of this- a French Deathclaw, the fabled Enclave airforce, more Raiders and monsters than you could shake a stick at... What a ride, and it hadn't even really gotten started yet.

But that one time with the brick- long, long, LONG long, before Sanford could ever have hoped to be under the protective shell of Power Armor- that had hurt like hell, and it was reminded to him, because this fall, wound up hurting like hell too.

Though, granted- it wasn't exactly THAT bad... It just stung, and his head got rattled- it would probably leave a nasty bruise. The good news was, nothing was broken, nothing was damaged or ruptured- it wasn't like he had taken a bad parasailing trip and freakin' face-planted into Mount Rushmore.

He was alright- dizzy, but okay.

 ** _CLM-CLM_**

 ** _BMM_**

"-AGH!... Ah... Ow... God, DAMN it... That hurt like a bitch..."

Sanford was lying face-down in the X-01- the whole suit had rumbled and shuttered, it kicked up some sparks, and whole lot of dust and airborne pebbles when it collided with a large floor of concrete.

Splayed on the ground, he stirred inside the suit, as he waited for the bleating reverberations of pain to leave his body- like a kid who had tripped down the stairs, sat at the bottom and gave his ankle a few moments to flare down.

There wasn't really any ambience around him save the hissing crumbling of some trails of dust that were still settling from the air, or falling from where there was now a gaping tear in the wooden ceiling above.

He was surrounded by shredded portions of wood boards, dented, rusty nails- splinters and sawdust, dead roaches and pieces of garbage from the upper ground floor were strewn unevenly throughout the pile of chaos.

Sanford slowly felt around with one of his gauntlets- shoving a panel of wood out of the way- he felt about the metal shape of his gun, the SMG loaned to him by Gerald- he clenched it in his fingers, and dragged it closer with a slide on stone.

"Ugh... Holy hell... My luck..." The suit groaned and shifted, Sanford sat up on his knees with a whine of servo motors from the complaining knee sections of the suit.

Taking his gun in his grip, he tore away the empty magazine, shoved in a fresh one that came from- miraculously -the still attached clump of them that he had stuffed in his rucksack. Nodding in thanks to the forces of fate- he gazed around at a sea of shadow surrounding him, like a bubble.

He heard the faint sound of shooting- and that kind of gave him some measure of relief, because, Gerald wouldn't have lasted a minute fighting on his own if the Deathclaw wasn't with him, so, she was still okay.

He grunted as he forced his body, and the exoskeleton as well- onto their heels, and standing in the center of the dark chamber, Sanford looked around, and was astonished at what he saw.

There was a big, rectangular, completely cleared basement chamber that was as big as the steeple itself- four support beams were gridded in a square formation by every corner of the room, made of concrete like the detail lacking floor.

There were no windows, and some elongated light fixtures wired into the remains of the wooden ceiling above, the portions that HADN'T been torn through- were dead and lifeless, some didn't even have bulbs.

All along the walls of the chamber, were old pre-War computer modules- some of them commercial and industrial grade- all of them suffering varying forms of disrepair and damage. Screens were smashed or cracked, parts were torn off, wires belched out of fissures in their hides- a graveyard of dead electronics.

Meshed in with that were rows of aluminum shelves, desks, and tables- and all of them were cluttered with broken electronics, wads and sheet piles of paper and ruined books- Sanford squinted, and saw guns, weapons that had been broken or taken apart.

There was a big cylindrical device that looked like a glass tube connected between two super-computer like data blocks- and even though it was dark, Sanford could see that it was a testing device for laser based carbon technology.

Gerald had been pretty accurate about his and Fred's talent and hobby- they had technology down here that people would've killed for BEFORE the fallout.

Too bad it was all totaled- Sanford, though- could probably make a FORTUNE, on all the metals and materials that were in these electronics.

Thinking about that suddenly gave off the sound of a cash register in his mind.

If there weren't roaches running around everywhere, he'd of gone to town.

-But that was just it...

ROACHES. Lots of them.

"...Where are all of them...?" Sanford muttered- now switching his scanning of the room from looking at valuable opportunity- to looking for hostile movement.

The chamber was devoid of any living roaches, or the swarm that had almost gotten him upstairs- there had to be like, forty or fifty dead ones surrounding his boots in the pile of debris around him, but... No live ones.

Weird.

This was supposed to be the heart of this little colony that the freaks had established... How could there be none?

Turning around- Sanford was just about to shrug and look for an exit, or a flight of stairs- when he heard a hideous, deep, thrumming, gurgling noise.

It was kind of like if the fattest, most unhealthy person in the world had a bad case of the runs, mixed in with a super-stomach-bug- it sounded awful. Something was dripping on the concrete, and there was a slow raise in that group noise that had almost been his undoing before.

 ** _clcklkclklcklclkclckCKLCCLKCLCKLCKCLCKLCKCLCKCLCKLCK..._**

-Uh oh.

"It's right behind my head, isn't it?" Sanford chuckled ironically. "Yeah, this... This thing is right behind my fuckin' head, you just watch-"

Sanford turned around in three, slow, deliberate steps.

Low and behold, a Radroach- but not just any Radroach- this roach was so big, that all Sanford could see in detail was its comically small, insectoid head, that had been bowed down from a thorax so rounded and large, it prevented him from seeing the opposite side of the chamber.

Just like Gerald had said- the roach, was as big, as a fuckin' SUV.

Thanks a lot Gerald, thanks a whole lot.

"...Wow," Sanford muttered- watching as the roach's multi-layered sets of mandibles flexed inwards of its hideous appearing oral cavity- and more toxic spittle dripped from them to form green plats on the concrete floor below.

Their heads were so close, that all Sanford had to do, was lean forwards, and his helmet's cranium would've bumped the roach's- 'Nose'- if you could call it that.

The rounded, black eyes of the creature glistened with a hunger that no Ghoul, or other mutated bug beforehand, had instilled in him.

"You're... Really, really... FUGLY, aren't you, girl?"

The roach, having not understood a word of his speech- reared back its head, and jerked forwards with its mandibles splayed, mouth cavity pulsating, and strings of spittle flying forth- the bug SCREECHED at him.

 _WWWWWWWWWWWWWWEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYGGGGHHHHHHHHHH-wghwghwghwgh..._

-Sanford inched back throughout the whole five second yell, his suit making a shifting clatter of steel the entirety of the time. Yellow goop stringed and clung to the face of his helmet in a repugnant mess- and a tint of green smog even left the roach's throat to dissipate into the air above.

When the roach silenced itself, it sat there, just as close as before- and Sanford reached up, and wiped some of the slime off of his eye lenses on the helm's front.

"That's fucked up, man." He grunted.

 _WWWWEYYYGGH- WEYGH_

The roach's head rose high enough that it became shadowed in the darkness of the chamber's ceiling- Sanford raised his gun, and almost dropped it for a second time tonight when a big, fat, ugly, puckered orifice emerged from the dark right ahead of him.

The roach curled its massive abdomen under its own thorax- and six massive legs were seen as dark lines on either side of its huge body- the abdomen ended- in what humorously resembled- it's anus.

"That's even MORE fucked up."

 ** _fffwwhhhiiKMMMMMMMMM_**

-A yellow colored smog shot forth from the spraying organ, and plumed through the air thickly, almost like a feather-weighted liquid.

"-OH CRAP!" Sanford barked- flying backwards on stumbling boots- he kept a good foot away from the spreading cloud of filthy pheromones that started to gather around the massive roach.

He fired his SMG at the beast- and the bullets ate into its stomach chitin with tiny flecks of tan and flying cream-colored chippings- but, other than that, the roach didn't make a noise, or move at all to symbolize if it even felt the rounds.

His toxicity sensors in the suit went wild- alarms blaring lightly in the helmet, and his HUD lighting with a small text block indicating that the air had been poisoned, and systems were now regulating his oxygen supply.

The roach brought its abdomen behind it again- screeched with parting mandibles- and shifted towards him- large, but not large enough as to be hindered by the two support beams that were on either side of it in this section of the chamber.

It was good that Gerald had warned them of the smog that this fat freak apparently had a thing for- not only would they have just rushed the building and had all three of themselves swarmed, but mama' roach here would've barged in and finished the job.

Even though Sanford had his personal space violated by a bunch of radioactive, slimy bugs, AND he fell through the floor again- it was better than he and his allies being dead.

Though, that possibility was still on the table.

Perhaps... It was a good idea if he, you know, started to run? Maybe?

"God damn it," Sanford tore out his empty clip, fed the gun a new one- and drained that one.

 ** _CLAKCLCKALCKLALCKLCLCKL_**

-All the rounds ate about the roach's head, one of them even clipped off the center of its chitinous cranium- all of the bullets vanished in tiny wisps of tan dust and chips of exoskeleton.

"God damn it!"

Sanford looked down and saw that through the now thoroughly gathering yellow-colored smog that was filling the basement chamber more and more- there was movement, tiny little shadows that looked like torpedoes in the sea of yellow.

He stomped on one, and heard the trademark screech and spatter of smashed Radroach.

"Gimme' a break... Can't I just get a break?" Sanford multi tasked by draining a third clip into the gigantic roach slowly worming across the chamber floor towards him- and stepping on the straggler smaller roaches that were gathering by his feet.

He glanced about the room quickly- searching for anything- one of these mythical weapons that Gerald and Fredrick apparently had abandoned down here, a doorway, a staircase- maybe even a push of luck and the sight of an ELEVATOR, huh, that would be a treat...

-But no, nothing- in fact, when he finally did see something he wanted to see- it was a flight of steps- he only saw it in a glance and halfway, because it was behind the giant roach that was taking its sweet time in cornering him.

 _This isn't good._

The roach stopped its stomps towards him for a quick interval- it bowed its angular head, raised it with opened jaws- and three streaming trails of greenish goop were vomited from within its mouth.

The roach had apparently not only developed a massive size, a way of releasing poisonous chemicals that attracted thousands of other roaches- but it also had a projectile attack. Gerald was right- this thing was a monster.

Sanford gasped, and he ducked to the side- the armor rattling the floor with a few hurried boot falls.

The three careening wads of green slime flew so close over his right shoulder pauldron that they left some splashed residue on the grayish metal in passing- before smashing over the wall behind him in clouds of yellowish dust.

Glancing to the area of impact- Sanford saw contrails of finger-like green running down from the center splatters that the attack had made- and from where he was, he could hear the concrete sizzling.

An acid vomiting, poison fog spewing, gigantic, bullet resistant Radroach- and Sanford was trapped in the basement with it.

Happy day.

Turning around- Sanford, for the hundredth time tonight- gasped, when the roach surged forwards, and a metallic clack of stressed steel echoed in his hearing. The bug dipped its head down, and bit his gauntlet's forearm- clenching its large, multiple mandibles over the metal.

Sanford cursed, he tried to step back, and found himself unable to overpower the strength of the bug's rooted legs that were spread on either side of it- he took his gun one handed, and started to mercilessly plant the butt of the SMG into the roach's chitin-plated forehead.

 ** _BM_**

 ** _BM_**

 ** _BM_**

 ** _BM-BM-BM_**

-The insect didn't even flinch.

Then, Sanford felt weightless again.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

She had never liked bugs- even the few that existed in the modern day, that retained the small size they originally evolved with before the bombs dropped.

Little things, like flies or gnats- they never outright bothered her to any major degree, but her eyes would lock to and subsequently follow them whenever they got in her general vicinity- like someone would watch a hated enemy cross a room.

Insects were never a good thing to her- especially now, with the messed up ecosystem of the planet- bugs may as well have no longer played any major part in it.

Her prior quirks towards them were now, officially, reinforced times ten- seeing as she was just barely holding off a swarm of giant roaches that were trying to eat her.

If Gerald had the attention or ability to speak amid his raging anxiety and adrenaline- he would've noted how skilled it was that she slashed back and forth, slicing through roach after roach that scurried across the pavement at her- and never once did one of her claws even graze the ground beneath her targets.

There was some sort of sick- 'Game'- she had read about that humans played on each other- something where a person splayed their fingers, and a knife would be danced in stabbing motions between the fingers. The skill there was not catching yourself or the other person- whoever was under the blade.

It was kind of like that- except, the goal for the roaches was to drown the Deathclaw in their very number of bodies.

"Ceci' est tout simplement fantastique..." She mumbled when the roaches thinned in their endless advance. "Damned bugs."

"-U-Uh, h-hey, Deathclaw person," Gerald mumbled behind her. "I'm almost outta' mags."

"Perhaps if you hadn't wasted them all, one after the damn other..."

"We're gonna' get eaten by roaches!"

"Shut up or I'll throw you at them."

They'd been pushed back across the street- and the swarm of bugs was actually starting to thin- after all, Sanford and she had killed so many of them, and there was a good comfort in the fact that they weren't dealing with the innumerable reproduction of say an ant colony.

The roaches had gathered here- they weren't reproducing, as far as they were concerned- and there weren't millions of them- eventually, the casualties would start to be too much.

Though with another tendril of roaches forming a path towards her across the street- that was becoming harder for her to swallow. These bugs were annoying.

"I can't believe they got Sanford!" Gerald cried like a woman. "We're dead, man! DEAD!"

"He's still alive." She snorted- bending down and slashing away a pair of roaches- the severed halves were tossed away to her right, and left spatters of white and yellow on the pavement.

"How do you know?!"

"I heard his weapon firing before."

"-That don't mean nothing! The roach! The roach could've- could've- gotten HANDS, man!"

"You're a moron."

Her arms worked in a back forth, back forth, back forth- a pattern of four or more times, and the swarm was batted away in slithered pieces with each swipe.

 ** _BBMM_**

-A loud, reverberating rumble echoed from inside the steeple.

That didn't sound good.

"Aye! What the hell was THAT?!" Gerald panicked- draining another clip into the oncoming bugs- further annoying her with how many he hit in comparison to the thirty rounds in the magazine.

"I don't know."

"What was that?! D-Do you know?!"

"I DON'T."

"-Oh my God! We're DOOOMMMEEDD-!"

-Sanford would've yelled at her, Hancock even probably would've had a bit of a problem with it before he started hysterically laughing- but, now, Gerald was just becoming a complete, and total whiney bitch.

Reaching behind herself- she used her foot to crush another roach, raised her one claw to level with the Ghoul's head. He turned after draining ANOTHER magazine, watched her hand, and blinked stupidly.

She bunched her pointy behind her thumb's print- and literally flicked Gerald in the head.

 ** _CLP_**

-The Ghoul stumbled backwards, his gun dropped onto the street, and he fell on his backside, speechless, with hands wrapped over his temples- moaning in pain.

 _He'll live._ She happily sighed in thought to the consistent quiet she was able to revel in as she killed the roaches.

 ** _BMMM_**

 ** _BM-BM-_**

 ** _CRRASCCHHH_**

-The entire wooden wall of the steeple's rightwards flank, beside the porch- shattered into a million airborne boards, timber pieces, chips, and ragged debris in a great cloud of smoke and sawdust.

She slashed another trio of roaches, and stood in shock at the explosive destruction of wood that formed a great fissure in the steeple's bottom chin.

"Oh mon Dieu'." She swallowed.

A big, shadowed, bulky form rolled across the grass in a whirling spin of metal limbs, clumps of dirt, and pieces of wood. A whimsical arm of smoke traced through the air that Sanford had been thrown across- he tumbled onto the pavement of the sidewalk with a few hollow rings of metal.

Grunting and cursing loud enough that she could hear him from the distance- she watched as the human miraculously stood onto his heels with a whir of motors and servos, recovered instantly from the explosion- and reached down to grab up the submachine gun that he had barely kept a hold of throughout the flight.

She saw him aim the gun at the blackened tear in the building's hide- he fired briefly- turned around, and cursed again- his foot pattering all over the ground as he stepped on a small mob of roaches that had closed in as he stood.

He looked up- saw her, and waved his arm.

"I'm alive!" He called. "See that? No Sanford-for-lunch today! Ha!"

The Deathclaw huffed as he jogged across the sidewalk towards her, boots bumping metallically with each step- he nodded at the possibly thousands of corpses littering the street, the grass and stoop.

"We did a number on them, huh? Gerald was right about the, uhm... The roach," He waved back at the building. "Fucker's huge- almost ate me- OHMYGAWD- w-what happened to Gerald?!"

The Deathclaw dismissively raised a brow- turned around, looked down at the Ghoul's prone form, and shrugged.

"I don't know. I think a block of wood hit him upside the head from your little stunt before."

"...Oh man, well, d-did you check him?"

"He's fine."

"You sure?"

"Oui'."

"...Is that French for yes?"

"YES. For goodness' sake."

"Great. Now, you wanna' know what's not so great?"

"Mm?"

"I didn't kill the roach."

"..."

"I mean, I TRIED."

"...What do you mean? Then... Then where is it?!"

"Stuck in the basement- fat whale probably can't climb for it's-"

 ** _BM-BM_**

 ** _BM_**

 ** _BM_**

 ** _CL_**

 ** _CLK_**

 ** _CLK_**

-They both turned around, and, jutting from the tear in the boarded wall of the steeple, and its concrete base- were three, spindly, chitin covered insect legs, that clenched tens of tiny claw-like protrusions into the grass next to the stoop.

 ** _CLK CLK_**

 ** _CLK_**

-The other three legs jumped out and caught on the earth and sidewalk too- a second later, and the hole in the building got bigger with another burst of wood and masonry dust.

A huge, bulbous, torpedo shape catapulted like a rock through a sheet of sandpaper- the gigantic roach smashed through the remains of the steeple's lower flank, throwing debris and broken wood everywhere.

It rolled across the sidewalk, steamrolling the corpses of its own kin, and crackling down the pavement with a horrid screech- the giant roach settled on its back, legs kicking up a swinging storm to the night sky above.

Sanford was silent as the Deathclaw tore her vision from the sight, and simply stared towards him- jaw set, eyes narrowed.

When the roach righted itself with a organic thud against the pavement- it opened its mandibles, shook its head wildly- and focused its beady black eyes on the pair standing in the middle of the dead roach-strewn street.

With a hiss- the mutated insect quivered its legs, and the first few thudding footsteps crackled against the street in their direction.

Sanford noticed the Deathclaw staring at him- shrugged, and pointed his gun at it.

 ** _CLACLALCKLCKLCK_**

-All the bullets clattered away into the bug's hide.

"-See, I tried, it didn't work, don't gimme' that look."

"I'll give you whatever look I want, monsieur'."

"Well, we signed up for it."

"What's this... WE, bullshit?"

"I didn't hear you say no!"

"I shouldn't have to, you dolt!"

"Don't get your tail twisted at me!"

"I'll twist your neck!"

"Untangle your fallopian tubes and let's kill this thing already!"

"WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME?!"

"Oh no, look, toxic spit! Get down!"

"You listen here, you little shit-!"

 ** _BM-SHM_**

-Sanford reached over and shoved his gauntlet into her gut, sending her stumbling back with a hiss of surprise.

He too ducked low enough that his helmet almost glanced his knee plate- a trio of green wads of vomit-like sludge flew between them, to vanish into the shadows behind them.

The Deathclaw- who had been rearing back to kick him- stumbled away, and dropped her jaw at the display- tail swishing.

"It SHOOTS?!"

"Did you think I was kidding?!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	24. Chapter 24

**CHAPTER 24**

 **Soda Killers.**

* * *

Plaster, sawdust, wood, and chips of boards were all over the place.

There was a giant, mutated insect- that was mutated, on TOP of its already present mutations. It was scrabbling towards them on thick legs, and it had a hide all but impervious to the SMG rounds that Sanford had been forced to use.

The Deathclaw swallowed with a heavy blink as the bug closed distance- her nails, tinted yellow and green from the slicing work she had made of the remainder of the roach's entourage swarm- flicked out from their sheathes in her fingers.

Sanford switched to a fresh clip, and didn't even bother firing at the roach to avoid simply wasting ammo- he checked in his rucksack over his armor's thigh- cursed at the handful of clips remaining inside.

This bug needed something heavy to kill it- and the problem was, Sanford didn't have access to his own submachine gun- which, while it was of later model than the one he held- it also was in better condition, and he had bored the thing himself for high velocity performance.

Sanford wasn't so sure it would outright kill or maim the giant roach- but it would hurt, and maybe that was all they needed right now- to hurt it.

His boots clocked against the pavement, and her heels slid- they backed off with a few steps as the slow, cumbersome and obese freak etched towards them. It hadn't attempted to vomit up acid at them again- it was biding for a good shot, the roach had actually grown intelligent enough to see that Sanford wasn't so clumsy for his suit's size.

"I don't suppose you have some kind of plan, monsieur'?" She grumbled. "My claws could kill it- it's just a question of me surviving long enough up front to hit it."

"We're not going that route," He warned. "I'm not having you get in that thing's face- that's too much risk."

"Concern, hmm?"

"Yeah, concern, deal with it."

"Je suis flatte'," She hummed. "I'm not complaining."

"Here's what we're going to do," Sanford wheeled around to look about the street- he hissed in stress to seeing Gerald still on the ground, rocking in a slight fetal position on the concrete. He noted the Deathclaw's optimistic raise of brows to the Ghoul. "-And no, we're not leaving him as a distraction."

"Disappointing."

"We're gonna' make a U-turn," He looped his free gauntlet. "Run back down the alley- that one, right there across the street- wait for the thing to follow us."

"Then what?"

"We head back inside the basement." He nodded for the still smoke-tinged gash in the lower wall of the steeple by the stoop up ahead.

"Are you insane?"

"Just a bit. No, listen to me- I saw all kinds of stuff him and Fred were working on- weapons and lots of weapons, there is something in there we can use to crack open this bug, I just know it."

"You're confident? No in-the-moment hopes?"

"There are good munitions there, trust me."

"...F-Fine, fine, we'll do it your way."

"Good-" Sanford bent down when their steps took them close enough to Gerald's prone form- he wrapped a gauntlet underneath the delirious Ghoul's chest and hoisted him clean off his feet with a whir of motors in the suit.

Slinging the Ghoul over his pauldron, he gripped his SMG one handed- and pointed over his back with a thumb.

"-I got old' Gerald, let's go, quickly."

Right as the pair turned around- and Sanford's boots started to echo across the pavement- the roach reared back its head, and a cluster of vomited wads of acid were hurled forth into the air with a horrific squelching breath.

Sanford saw the incoming projectiles- gasped- and remembered that dodging wasn't so much an option with the Ghoul out and over his shoulder.

Taking a great risk- he bundled as much of Gerald as he could to his breastplate, wrapped his gauntlets on either side, fell to a single knee- and shielded the Ghoul with his own armored body.

 ** _CLKCLKC_**

 ** _CLUNK_**

-The acid globules smacked and imploded in a disgusting set of blasting slaps that stringed green goop through the air and down the armor's surface- there was hissing, and steam rose from the metal- Sanford grunted as it felt like someone had whacked him in the back with an unfurled gymnasium matt.

Blinking away the discomfort- he started to sprint forwards again, and he managed to duck low enough with Gerald in his arms that the next wad of acid sailed clean over his head and splattered on the street ahead.

"Sanford! Run faster!"

"-Wha-?!" Sanford looked up- and saw that the Deathclaw was already peering from around the corner of one of the houses that was on the other side of the street- she waved a claw at him.

Damn, she was fast.

"-Thanks for leaving me in the DUST!" Sanford cried.

"Run faster, you damned monkey!"

"I may be a monkey- but I'm one TOUGH monkey!"

He wheeled past her and the white colored paneled corner of the house- running straight down a thin incision between two of the structures with a lightening sprint of grunting joints and whirring servos- boots rumbling the very earth.

Helmet glancing about- Sanford gave off a tiny- 'Ah-ha!'-and ran over to the back porch of the house they had rounded- he opened the flimsy back door, glanced inside for roaches, and laid Gerald on the floor before shutting the door after him.

The wood made hollow, deep clunks as his boots took him from the door, down the steps, and back onto the lawn where he waved her on.

"C'mon, it's the best we can do!"

"I'm not sure whether to hope the house is still clear or not..."

"Don't be like that! He's whiney, that doesn't warren him DYING, Ms. Anger-Management."

The roach screeched in the backdrop- and the whole side of the house they stood behind rumbled- kicking off a faint coat of dust from every flat surface all at once.

It looked like the house's ghost or something left its physical form for a brief second before fading away in the wind- the roach was following them- it probably couldn't get between the buildings.

To confirm- she turned around, and slowly glanced over the paneled corner of the home- she saw the giant roach at the end of the little alley between it and the house next door- it had made a oval-shaped indent in the very structure of both building's corners in an attempt to squeeze through.

It chittered- saw her- and she jumped back when a blob of acid smacked into the paneling with a crack of plaster and wood, and splatter of goo.

"Yeah, the thing's following us." She frowned. "We're going through the yards in a U-turn?"

"Yeah, that's the plan. This way- through the fence!" Sanford turned, bunched his arms over his sides, and sprinted in a rumbling torrent towards the old fence that sealed this yard from the one next to it.

He put out his shoulder pauldron- and rammed straight through the flimsy wood with a burst of splinters and dust- catapulting boards away on either side of him, and folding both halves of the severed fence towards the ground of the neighboring yard.

Still moving- he didn't slow, and she heard the wooden scream of another fence being breached.

At least he was determined- and, she comically thought as she slipped through the new gap after him- at least no one was living here anymore to worry about property damage.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Relocating was always hard whenever he and Hancock had been in a combat situation- it wasn't exactly easy to shift from one position where you had your head down, to another where you had proper protection from weapons fire, and you were able to do that WITHOUT being seen in transit.

The problem was when you switched cover- people would see the movement, and you would be out in the open, and people would obviously take the opportunity to shoot at you.

Sanford had been in hundreds of firefights, and at that, it was HUNDREDS- he'd been living in the Commonwealth for over a decade in its post-War state- and shockingly, out of all that time, the worst injury he had ever suffered, was a few animal bites and some buffs and scratches.

He'd never been caught on the business end of a blade, the only bone he had ever broken was his wrist in a bad fall, and most impressive of all, he'd never really been shot- and that was the largest risk in this dump.

He worded it- never REALLY been shot- because he had been grazed before, twice, in fact.

A round glanced his thigh one time- it didn't stop bleeding for awhile after the fight- and the only thing that saved him from that was constant hand compression and stimulation injections- and one time a bullet punched into the bolt of a rifle he was holding, ruined the gun, but saved his life.

Sanford had run into close calls with death a whole bunch of times- and shockingly to anyone in a more calmer lifestyle- he talked about it pretty openly and dismissively.

Rounds had flew past his head, shrapnel had flown past his head, rockets or grenades went off close enough that he was knocked off his feet- yadda-yadda-yadda, in the Wasteland, no one cared, because no one was there to listen- so Sanford got used to the knowledge.

Some of those close calls, had happened while he had been relocating- and not so shockingly, when he and the Deathclaw were sprinting through the backyards- the roach was trying to keep up with them by peaking into alleys they passed.

Acid slapped into fences nearby, it flew over or past them- and the more and more yards they crossed into- the more and more it was apparent that the roach wasn't stupid enough to just follow them blindly.

It was actively trying to keep at their flank- staying on the opposite side of the houses that they had cross to get back towards the steeple.

"This-ISN'T-working-!" The Deathclaw snapped mid-stride ahead of him. "-Need-another-PLAN-!"

Sanford was in shock at how fast she ran- and, nothing that was in front of her even hindered her movement.

A metal roundabout was built into a small lot of sand in one of the yards- rusted, with handles missing and a dull shade of silvery gray- she just planted a palm over one of the handles and vaulted clean over it, no problem whatsoever- even rolling across the ground ahead in a blink of movement.

Stunned to the display- Sanford ran around the old metal playset- and followed.

"-Let's try- THIS way-!" He pointed down one of the alleys- it looked like the roach had slowed in trailing them.

"The BUG is that way!" She stopped in a skid across the dirt- turned around, and stood there, wide eyed, panting from the run. "It'll shoot us if we cross the street, monsieur'!"

"It's a risk we have to take!" He said. "If we don't get back to the steeple, we don't have the equipment to kill it!"

"Maybe we can trap it," She tried. "Get it stuck, then get behind or on top of it and I'll make mince meat of it!"

"Where are we gonna' get it stuck, huh?" He held his arms up with a whir of motors. "In a HOUSE? It'll tear the thing down before we can-"

 ** _CRRSSM_**

 ** _BMMM_**

-The house of the yard they stood in, the rear of it- exploded in a cloud of wooden destruction and airborne boards- the wall popped outwards, and through the ragged crevice- the bulbous head of the roach jutted outwards.

Sanford and the Deathclaw held their arms up to shield their faces from some of the smaller debris that flittered out from the burst- the roach snapped more boards hanging on the edges of the new hole it made in the house with its bulbous legs.

Shrieking- the insect put holes in the porch it stepped through with cracks of splinters- one foot hit the grass before Sanford and her took the opportunity, to run directly past it, along the side of the home.

"See THAT, monsieur'?" She laughed over her shoulder- ignoring the gradually distancing screeches of the giant bug. "I'm not that crazy!"

"Fine! You were RIGHT, happy?!"

"VERY!"

"Let's get to the steeple!"

The Deathclaw zoomed around the bend of another house- darting straight to the left, and Sanford practically felt his lungs give off a petrified wheeze as he struggled to keep up.

The systems in his suit limited the amount of fatigue on him- but, heaven almighty, long runs like this were still a killer- he supposed it beat being without the exoskeleton and exposed to the acid spit the bug had, though.

The Deathclaw hopped over a small, closed garden fence that locked the alley between the two houses from the street ahead- it looked like she had just stepped over it with how fast she covered the parkour- and Sanford just battered through it with a slam of wood.

This street was one behind the road next to the steeple that they had first started to run from- and on cue, Sanford glanced to their left to see the giant Radroach crawling towards them in the dark from down the street- its legs giving off thuds with each fall.

"Come on, monsieur'!" The Deathclaw barked over her shoulder when his sprinting slowed.

The roach saw where the Deathclaw was headed- and Sanford felt his heart drop into his feet when the bug skidded to a clabbering halt- wheeled around and started to head for a merging lane that connected this road, with the one next to the steeple.

It was working to cut them off again- this was ridiculous, if he didn't kill this bug now, there would be an endless game of cat and mouse- it was only a limited time before they would be forced to get close with it and fight it.

"Go to the steeple's basement!" Sanford did the last thing either of them expected- he swung left, and started running towards the roach. "Find a weapon! Find the NUKALIZER, find anything! I'll distract it!"

"NO! I'm not doing that!" She cried. "You get back here NOW!"

"-Listen to me, it'll keep cutting us off!" Sanford stopped only briefly, body and suit still angled towards the roach's direction. "GO! I'll be alright! I'm not gonna' let a fuckin' bug eat me!"

"Sanford!" She wasn't having it. "No! I REFUSE. Jamais'!"

"You don't have a choice." He stated. "I'm done debating this- we're both dead unless you find something in there that can kill it... Now go, go!"

With that, Sanford wheeled over and ran with echoing, metal clacks against the pavement- he followed the intersection lane with a turn in his sprint- and soon, as she stood there watching, she heard the roach screech, and Sanford faintly laugh at it.

With a twitch in her jaw- she bit- hard -on her knuckle, threw her claw down, and turned around to run towards the steeple.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

So out of all the things that Sanford had run into- giant things, like, things as big or bigger than a car- were not on the commonality list.

He and Hancock had encountered some pretty big Mirelurks, big scorpions, big Yao Guai, and they'd heard about really big wild Deathclaws- but this roach took the cake, in size, anyway.

Sanford was dwarfed by this abomination- in his Power Armor or not, the Radroach was four or five heads taller than him- it had a humped, large thorax attached to an even larger, bulbous abdomen- and the small head with two buggy eyes was always angled down as it followed him.

Running out into the center of the street- Sanford had raised his arms as best he could in the restrictions of the suit's pauldrons- he called up to it.

"Hey! Fartsalot I'm down here! WOO!"

The bug was but a few feet away from him out in the open of the street- and instead of shoot at him with the projectile acid like he thought it would- the bug clambered over, and rose one of its chitinous, insectoid legs- the left front one.

Sanford watched in something like a parody of slow-motion, this big leg rise up into the night sky- seeing all the little barbed hooks across the toe. He gulped, tensed, and gasped when the leg shot down in his direction.

"-CRAP-!"

 ** _BMK_**

-He stumbled off to the side, and the foot smacked into the pavement with a hollow crash, and it rumbled the earth beneath his boots.

Screeching- the roach then swung outwards with the same leg, and Sanford felt his breath leave him as he backpeddled, and bent his head and shoulderline over his tailbone as far as the armor would allow- he heard the air soar, and the leg flew right over his helmed face.

Stumbling back onto steady footing- he was forced to jump again when the OTHER front leg smashed down to counter his recovery.

The beast was just trying to step on him- he really hoped Ms. Deathclaw hurried her tail up.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

She had to squeeze through the tear in the steeple's lower level to even peak inside the dark basement chamber.

Her vision allowed her to see in the blackness as she could in broad daylight- so, she carefully shoved herself past some boards with croaks of wood, and grunts of effort- within a few seconds, the concrete floor pattered with her clawed feet landing on it.

The Deathclaw had to duck a little to prevent her spines or her horns from dragging on the wooden ceiling- or the crisscrossing concrete support lattice that meshed between a series of support pillars dotting the center corners of the chamber.

The wall of smashed machinery that Sanford had stumbled upon- unknowingly to her -came to light as she examined around the room briefly- forgetting, only briefly, the distant thuds and screeches the roach was making outside.

She scanned about for any sign of the poisonous fumes this creature was capable of producing- and she came up with nothing as she glanced about. The thing just HAD to have tried to use that stuff on Sanford... Maybe, in its projectile form, the stuff dissipated after a bit? Who knew.

She probed along the wall of smashed computers- finding nothing of interest- and she couldn't exactly pick up any of the broken apart guns that were lying on some of the desks- because, she saw one of them, zipped over in a hurry, and was disgusted to find the weapon snapped in three pieces with parts missing.

The Ghouls had said that they MADE their own weapons down here... But so far, all she was finding was garbage, and parts of things.

Frantically- she tore over to one of the metal desks and used her fingers to sift through some of the metal clutter on its top- she picked up a round... Cylinder... THING, between two of her nails, looked at it, and grunted in frustration before tossing it to her right where it clattered onto the floor.

There wasn't even a trunk or some kind of crate in here for these mythical weapons to be- how was she supposed to find ANYTHING in this dump? Everything was broken!

Everything was broken, all the machines were useless, and there weren't even whole normal guns lying around! This was all just a giant cluster-fu-

-...And... And what was that terrible smell?

Suddenly getting a wash of nostril clinging disgust- the Deathclaw stopped in her tracks, and gave a whiff.

"Ugh!" She reached up and pressed her palm over her snout- comically giving off the appearance of a splaying set of five dark lines from her head in the blackness- like giant whiskers.

"Odeurs comme la mort'..." She grumbled. "What IS that?"

A few seconds ago she had been in panic- and, well, she WAS still in panic- but this odor just distracted her- she didn't know why, she'd smelled a lot worse that she didn't even blink towards in the past.

Turning around, she was made aware of a stairwell that lead up into the steeple- concrete steps, wooden walls leading upwards in angle on either side- that must have been where Sanford had tried to get out before he was THROWN out, literally.

So that meant, that this side of the room must have been where the roach, like, started, before the fight began.

-This was confirmed from possible hunch, to fact, as she stepped forwards, and found the undeniable source of the horrible smell she had been encountering.

"Ugh..." She repeated, looking down.

There was a gigantic pile of, well, basically and bluntly? Shit.

It was a mound of orange-tinted, blackish goop- it was like mud, but a bit like a membrane you'd find in a cracked open egg, or like a torrent of mucus from someone's nose. The stuff was awful- and it REAKED.

It was in a large quantity too- it spread a few feet in the rear center of the basement floor- it was piled high enough to match her knees.

"Saint-Christ." She tore her head away and made to step back towards hopelessly searching through the refuse of the basement- but, as she turned, she saw something.

It was a glittering motion- like, when someone turned an object made of metal in their hands, and overhead sunlight gave off a reflective sliver, or a light fixture above them hinted a sheen. That caused her to stop and turn back around.

Squinting at the mound of offal- she noticed something... Some THINGS, not quite right with it.

It was... Chunky.

-Now hold on, before it could be written off as the roach having a constipation problem- it wasn't THAT kind of chunky.

She leaned closer and held her breath- and what she saw jutting from the mound almost made her gag.

It was a six barreled, circuit-laden, handle-gripped object- and even though she didn't want to admit what it was exactly, she knew, and fate apparently knew- seeing as SHE was the one who had to dig in and get it.

The Nukalizer had seen better days- the six barrels were worn and stained with roach poop, the crank on top was turned in the wrong angle, and the three ammunition insertions were empty. The weapon was rather big, bulky- Sanford could wield it no problem, but, she couldn't.

"The things I'm put through." She grumbled. "Merde'..."

The Deathclaw took a breath, and then all at once, jabbed her other claw down and stuck her fingers around the gun's barrels- she felt the warm and sickly goop sift about around and even IN her grip.

"Agh!" She tugged it out with a repugnant shift of material- it didn't spatter everywhere, it didn't even make a mess- it was like tugging the gun from a pile of wet clay that gathered in some chunks on the weapon's surface- horrific.

Holding it as far from herself as she could- she pinched the barrels between two fingers and draped it by her side.

She had acquired the gun- but... Where was the ammunition?

This thing obviously didn't fire bullets, or rockets, and she didn't see a fuel canister anywhere... The three loading cylinders on the back took some kind of ammunition.

But this place was empty- if there had been any ammunition, it wasn't here anymore.

Sanford would figure it out. He always figured it out.

...Right?

She didn't have time for this- she clenched the Nukalizer one handed, cringed, and ran for the gap that had been torn in the steeple's wall above.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

The roach almost hit him a few times.

He was getting slower, because he was getting tired. Actually, Sanford was amazed at either how skilled he had become after such a short time, or by how much luck he had been gifted tonight- either or, the roach was swinging its legs and the best it had done was glance his armor a few times.

 ** _CLK_**

"-AGH!" Sanford stumbled in his latest duck from the lumbering limbs- the side of one of the roach's legs brushed by his breastplate, and with enough force that he almost lost his footing.

The roach screeched, and it jabbed its head forwards with open mandibles- giving Sanford seconds to gasp, tear his arms away from his midsection on either direction- and watch as the acidic-dribbling mouth parts clapped emptily in the space just before his chest.

Taking the moment- Sanford raised both his fists- and planted them downwards, aiming for the roach's eyes.

 ** _BM-BM_**

-Both his fists bounced off of the black, beady structures- and the roach made an awful screech- different from the ones it had been making.

The ground rumbled, and the large creature reeled back from the hits- its antennae jabbed around, and one of its front legs rose to consistently shove past its small head in a brushing motion- the roach gathered a few feet away from his stance.

Sanford reached by his hip, unclamped his SMG- and aimed for the bug's face when it put down its leg eventually.

 ** _CLCKALCKLCKLAKCLKALCKCLK_**

-He drained the whole clip, and for the first time in the fight- he saw blood.

 ** _crkr_**

There was a crunch of chitin, and the roach hollered with a thin arm of whitish-yellow trailing through the air its head swung through, before splattering onto the pavement.

Sanford switched mags' and saw that he had shot one of the Radroach's bulbous, black eyes- and that there was a gaping gash that was raggedly torn into the center of the rounded organ. Blood was stringing from the wound as the roach swung its head about rapidly.

"Take that, bitch!" Sanford laughed- frightening himself for how Hancock-ish' he sounded.

The roach surged forwards all at once- and Sanford didn't even have a blessing of reaction time, before both frontal legs swung in an upwards cut- and slapped into the metal of his breastplate.

 ** _BM-BMMM_**

-It wasn't enough to send him off his feet, but the impacts made Sanford stumble backwards with panicked servos and whining creaks of steel- he planted his boots hard enough for footing, that he left small spider cracks in the pavement.

Sanford cursed wildly, he almost dropped his only gun- and the roach kept coming- battering forwards, now partially blind, and flailing its head about with the seeming intent to use it to ram him.

"SANFORD!"

"-Wha-?!"

The shouting behind him distracted him- the roach's head made contact with his breastplate.

 ** _CLUNG_**

-The roach screamed, and Sanford was knocked clean on his backside from the hit.

 ** _BMM_**

 ** _CRK_**

-The pavement cracked and a hollow thrum sung throughout the armor when his backside made contact with the street.

Giving off a- 'Oof!'-from the fall, he had to fight the suit's bulkiness to scramble backwards with his legs and arms- the suit sparking with grinding drags on the concrete.

"Sanford! Monsieur'!"

"-A-Angrypants?! Is that you?!" Sanford couldn't look over his shoulder in the suit- but he heard the Deathclaw growl from where she was behind him, somewhere near a group of houses. She'd come back, that was good.

"CATCH! You ingrate!"

"Insulted!"

 ** _clak-clak-ck_**

-A big, bulky, metal and plastic object clattered about his ankles on the suit- it bounced about, and settled between them in a diagonal jut, with six barrels pointing upwards at the night sky.

Sanford blinked, and smiled heavily.

It was the Nukalizer. She'd found it.

"Ha-HA! Oh YES!" He cried, looking up at the roach, who, now, was starting to come towards him again with bore mandibles. "I'm gonna' flatten you, you shit!"

Sanford stood with a cumbersome few kicks of his boots, and presses of gauntlets to the street for support- the armor moaned and creaked, the systems were giving him alarms, but he didn't care.

He held the Nukalizer by its wooden-detailed handle, he reached up, and gave the crank on the top of the weapon a rough turn- and saw that the six barrels, three over another three- turned and shifted, so that the barrels on the bottom level, rotated to the top- like a wheel.

 ** _shm-CLM_**

-The Nukalizer steadied- he reached down and saw what looked like a safety bolt, and yanked it back.

Strangely, the three tubes sticking out the back made a clicking noise- and as Sanford raised the weapon towards the roach- he got a brief glimpse inside the tubes- and his toothy grin was shot right off his face.

...Because, well, the tubes were... Empty.

Wait a minute...

Where's the bloody ammo?!

"-Oh fuck!"

 ** _BM_**

-A roach leg impacted him dead center his armored gut- and Sanford was stumbling back again.

It was a good thing he partially blinded it- at least that meant that it would be less inclined to shoot-

 ** _SHSKM-SLLM_**

"WOAH!"

-Alright, he took that last part back.

The roach couldn't aim, at least- so the acid globules flew PAST him, and not close enough that more nasty roach residue would stain the plating.

Sanford kept hurrying backwards, now gazing in a dumbfounded way to the interior of the empty loading cylinders.

"You got me a gun with no AMMUNITION?!" He screamed- now turning, and seeing the Deathclaw standing by the sidewalk, arms now raised in annoyance. "There wasn't anything FOR ammunition! Y-You don't have anything in that magical rucksack of yours?!"

"Who do I friggin' LOOK LIKE?! Houdini'?!"

"Quelle'?! Who the hell is that?!"

"-I-I... Oh for shit's sake, NEVERMIND!"

"Hey-! Mr. Sanford-man!" Came a third voice from the outskirts of the engagement.

"Who-?" Sanford wheeled to his left, and through the shadows of the night, he saw a humanoid figure standing just before the sidewalk- waving an arm at him.

At first, he thought it was Gerald- but, squinting, and giving his suit's vision-filters a second to adapt- he proved it was not Gerald that was the Ghoul hailing him- it was Fred.

"Mr. Sanford-man! CATCH!"

"Catch what?!"

Fredrick reared back with his left arm- and loosed off a torpedo-looking shadow into the night air for Sanford's direction.

Sanford raised his chin, and watched the elongated, cylindrical object sail in a vertical spin through the sky- contrasted from the black, by only brief flickers of reflection from its glass surface.

Whatever it was, it was falling short.

"SHIT!" Sanford surged forwards with a few clamps of boots- and held out his gauntlet in some hope of catching the thing.

 ** _CLINK!_**

The object gave off a high-pitched chime as he balanced it in his grip, fumbling, and almost dropping it before steadying himself, and his arm.

"Ha! I got it! I really got... It..."

Sanford looked down at it- and was stupefied by what he was holding.

...It was a Soda bottle.

Actually, it was a Nuka-Cola bottle, with glass fins and missile-likeness in its shape and everything- even the label was still there, matted, tan-colored, and spelling out in red letters- _NUKA-COLA- QUANTUM!_

Nuka-Cola...?

Fred just ran out into a firefight... To throw him...

...Nuka-Cola?

Sanford looked up, and saw Fred standing there proudly.

Sanford was so shocked, that he was unable to comprehend the Deathclaw screaming at him that the roach was recovering, and coming at him again from behind.

Sanford was so shocked, that he almost opened his fingers and let the bottle shatter on the street.

Sanford was so shocked- that he became almost enraged.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" He screamed at the top of his lungs. "YEAH! Yeah! Yeah that's a real fuckin' treat! Thanks for the fuckin' energy drink MID-fight! Yeah man! YEAH! You got skills! YEP!"

"What was that?!" Fred called, bunching his hands on either side of his mouth. "I didn't hear!"

"SON OF A BITCH-!"

"No-no! You gotta' stuff it in the ammo tower, Mr. Sanford-man!"

"I SHOULD'VE LET THE MAL-FUCKIN' ROACH EAT BOTH OF YOU! I SHOULD'VE- ...wait, what?"

"The Quantum's the ammo, -man! Use the Quantum!"

Sanford looked down at the gun, and then he lowered that, and he looked at the luminescent blue Soda inside the Quantum bottle- gave it a good shake for measure, and watched the liquid slosh around.

Then he looked at the gun again.

And then he looked at the bottle again.

And then he looked upwards, in a convenient angle for full presentation of his helmet, and chuckled lightly.

"I must be some kind of an asshole to not see that one coming, right?"

"LOOKOUT!"

There was a wet clapping sound right behind his head- and Sanford spun around just in time, to see the Radroach's giant mandibles clenched in front of his helmet from where they had been stopped from biting the headgear itself.

The Deathclaw had to have jumped, like, ten or twelve feet through the air- because she leapt from one side of the two-lane street, and she soared over both lanes, the sidewalk and landed on the roach's back.

She clattered against the chitin- wrapping her arms over the roach's thorax, and shoving backwards with her entire body, forcing the roach to rear its front legs into the air and screech repeatedly.

The Deathclaw got a firmer grip- and started slashing with one of her claws- and her nails tore through the bullet-resistant exoskeleton like tinfoil.

 ** _CRRRK_**

 ** _SPPAHSSH_**

-A great trench was torn into the roach's thorax flank- a four-lined cut that eviscerated the shell, dug into its soft innards, and skewered everything that the nails dragged past. White bile bubbled and ejected from the wounds in hurried squirts.

The roach was bawling- it was screeching and screaming, and it mandibles were flared and open- it swung left and right, and the Deathclaw had to fight to keep her stance atop the bug- she wrenched her arm free with a final tug, and swung it through the air to loose off all the blood on it.

Sanford looked down at the Nukalizer, he took a deep breath and blinked- concentrating.

He reached up to the center storage cylinder- peered inside, and shook his head when he found a literal corkscrew mechanism at the farthest interior of it, right at the end of the tunnel.

Taking the Nuka-Cola Quantum in his other gauntlet, he formed a fist over the butt, and shoved the cap-end into the tunnel, where he felt a magnetic tug.

"Twist it!" Fred called over.

The roach- still reeling from the Deathclaw on its back- gave a furious hiss, and threw itself face-first towards the street- its abdomen swinging with the momentum, legs bucking to rear its backside into the air.

The mass shifting about- coupled with getting butted by- ironically -the roach's BUTT, caused her fly off the monster's back, directly over its head.

Sanford had just given the bottle a twist- and he heard the satisfying- _CSHHK_ -of the carbonation leaving through the opened nozzle- he heard a clinging song by his boots, and glanced down to see the cap flittering away.

Right as the Deathclaw tumbled across the street with pocks of dust, thuds of swinging limbs- she came to a halt, and was scrabbling to her feet- the Nukalizer became active.

 ** _WHMMMMM_**

-It made a revving sound, and the crank mechanism quivered, the Mr. Handy circuitboard lit up with a few small, green lights.

 ** _BING-BING!_** -Rang a tiny chime.

Turning to view the Deathclaw- she was still standing up, and the roach was still screeching- now bleeding from its eye and the ragged wound on its side- it turned towards Sanford, and opened its mandibles, giving off a ragged hiss.

Sanford got a terrible sneer on his features- he held the Nukalizer one handed, and actually ran TOWARDS the roach.

"You like screaming, huh?!" He ducked, and a leg flew over his suit's shoulder pauldrons, whistling through the air. "You like screaming at me?!"

The roach tried to rear its head back- but Sanford hopped upwards with a creak of steel- and he slapped his gauntlet over the hole in the roach's eye.

 ** _PLK_**

-The insect hollered- and the entire, gigantic mass shifted downwards as Sanford tugged the roach back towards the earth.

Landing on his feet, with the giant's legs scurrying and thudding all around him- Sanford pressed the three barrels of the Nukalizer towards the roach's mandibles- he jammed it forwards, sticking it between the multi-layered mouth pieces.

Finally, with the beast furiously, and fruitlessly- struggling with his grip, Sanford shoved the whacky-looking weapon forwards one last time- and as if sensing the game being over- the roach actually stopped moving.

With the barrels buried in its mouth pieces- Sanford laughed.

"WELL, FUCK YOU TOO!"

He compressed the trigger.

 ** _CHK_**

 ** _BBBBBAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHH_**

-A pillar of glowing, blue fire shot forth and burst from the insect's upper thorax in a dazzling display of illumination, that lit up the entire street, and highlighted the Deathclaw's features a faint blue as she stood in shock to what she was seeing.

In the backdrop- Fred was screaming at the top of his lungs.

"It's so BEAUTIFUUUUUUL!"

The flame that was being shot through the roach's body looked like it originated from a humungous bunsen-burner- it liquidated the beast from the inside out, gradually turning the ragged surroundings of the volcano-hole erupting from the bug's back a molten orange.

The entire insect looked like it was turning black- the hide became charred and flaky, the head and neck area vanished in the Godly pillar of blue fire that belched from the whining Nukalizer- it sounded like a small jet engine was screaming.

The roach's huge legs were still curling at its side- when the insect exploded.

 ** _PLLLLAAAGGHHHHUUHHHMMMPPP_**

-Half of the monster Radroach's body vanished in a disturbance of tan and yellow that misted throughout the air- the abdomen slouched back, raggedly burnt, and separated from the disintegrated space that used to sport the creature's thorax.

What was left of the roach's 'Ankles'- collapsed onto the street in two small, shriveled piles that thudded onto the pavement and lay still, steaming.

Chunks of roach meat fell all over the place in wet thwacks and kicks all about the pavement and off the roofs of houses with hollow thuds against the shingles. A bunch of windows on the street's homes were broken when crispy roach bits flew threw them.

For what looked like nearly a half-mile- there were tiny blotches and particles falling across the town in the backdrop- and as Sanford stood there, frozen, with the gun still pointed upwards from where the mouth of the monster had been- it was clearly evident, that the roach was dead.

The flame building from the Nukalizer subsided with a small- **_WHHHhhiiiirrrr..._** -Sound, the chime noise gave off a- **_BEEP...BEEP...BEEP_** \- and Sanford slowly, but surely, lowered his gauntlet that was holding the weapon aloft.

The street, all around him- was spattered a burnt white- all of Sanford's armor, his helmet, his breastplate and pauldrons and legs- were stained burnt white. The Nukalizer- the ENTIRE gun, save for the tips of the barrels, which were black- were stained, BURNT WHITE.

In the moments of silence following the roach's demise, Sanford heard dripping- and he realized that slivers of the bug's guts and blood were still bunched and falling from his suit.

He couldn't bring himself to unfreeze from his half-kneeled position.

...This was... Awesome, after all, he killed it in the most spectacular way possible but... Jesus Christ, this was also disgusting.

"...I...I think... I think I'll suffer PTSD from this..." He mumbled to himself. "...My soul... Good lord, my poor virgin soul."

"Sanford! Monsieur'!"

Sanford started to relax a bit when the Deathclaw hurried up next to him- she had wide eyes, hunched shoulders, and despite that tumble there wasn't a scratch on her.

Though, there were flecks of yellow and white all over her hide- but she seemed too concerned for him to notice- of course, that was mitigated, when Sanford's helmet slowly creaked to face her, his body still immobile.

She saw for the first instance how... CAKED, he was in roach innards.

"...Oof." Was all she hissed, cringing.

"...I'm still beautiful on the inside... Just, don't judge me." He sighed lowly. "My life, she is flashing."

"Are you hurt, monsieur'?"

"...My pride is rather in pain."

"You'll live," She breathed out tiredly. "I can't believe that worked."

Fredrick made himself known with a few hurried footfalls on the street- he ran up to the sidewalk, and held his arms aloft in a great cheer.

"THAT WAS THE CRAZIEST SHIT, I HAVE EVER SEEN! AND,I DIDN'T GET HIT WITH ROACH GUTS! YEEEAAHHH-!"

 ** _PLK_**

-A whitish roach blob slapped into the cap of his hairy head.

Fred stood there, still smiling, eye twitching as a trail of goop slithered past his right nostril- and he dropped his arms with an exasperated- "-Shit."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-0-


	25. Chapter 25

**CHAPTER 25**

 **The Long Walk.**

* * *

The Wasteland had weird weather patterns- there were occasional rainstorms with gray droplets instead of healthy clear ones, there were thunderstorms where really no rain developed at all, there were even on rare days cold passes- where the sky became monotone, and chilled breezes caressed the atmosphere in low howls. Note though, that it never snowed, there were never any seasons- it rarely rained, it never hailed, there was never any wind-based disturbances- nothing, it was bland.

Mankind had rotted mother-Earth from the inside out- there was nothing that was right, or worked the same way it used too.

The oceans were dead, and the only things that survived were carnivorous nightmares- the trees were all dead, and most people in the world didn't even know what a leaf looked like- all the natural fauna on land was either mutated and monstrous, or extinct, or too small to make a difference either way.

The world had been poisoned- and no matter how many times he had tried to look at it in one logical way or another, Sanford Tobs could never come to terms with and accept, that the future really was bleak and unpredictable.

Maybe the Earth one day would heal, or maybe it would never change without human intervention again- or maybe it would get worse and NOTHING would survive, and Earth would turn into a bigger dustball than it already was, and would be forgotten.

The human race had ruined itself- it had ruined its planet, its people, its countries and everything that the great minds and efforts of mankind as a whole throughout history had accomplished.

But through all that muck, somehow, humanity had survived- even if it was fleeting, and there were so few left in comparison to when people numbered in the billions- the point was that through thick and thin, somehow the human race had not been wiped out.

So here they were, two hundred years later- running around in little groups in a big world filled with big predators, big groups of evil beings, big monsters and big friggin' bugs- and that last part had been reaffirmed for Sanford greatly.

It had been awhile since the bits of roach meat had ceased their endless careen from above in a rainstorm of repugnant filth- and now that it finally gone calm again, Sanford was left with the nagging fact, that he was still matted in bug blood.

The whole front of his suit was tainted with a spattered hue, that, awfully- looked a lot like if someone set a marshmellow on fire and threw it up against a plate of steel.

Every time he moved, he could hear the drying guts crick and flake- he had a grimace the whole time he wandered around the streets with the Deathclaw and Fred- who, surprisingly, had been able to sober up just enough, to save the day.

They checked a bunch of the houses for any surviving roaches- and the longer and longer into the night they scoured the town, the more and more clear it became that the roaches had met their match.

There was not a single Radroach that they came across- and throughout most of the walk, Fred was quite adamant about giving Sanford compliments to his effectiveness of killing mutated insects.

"I'll tell ya' -man-"

"-Just Sanford, is fine."

"-Right, well, SANNY', you've got an eye for slappin' bugs! Wicked great!"

"...Thanks?"

"Hey-hey! What about THAT house?" The three of them had been down the center of one of the many roads crossing through the development- Fred pointed at the house- one of the two- that had been impacted by the roach ramming into their bases to get at Sanford and the Deathclaw.

Sanford recognized the house with a glance from under his helmet- and he felt his heart drop before hurrying over with a few hollow thuds of his suit's boots.

"What'd ya' see?!" Fred called after him- toting a submachine gun as he jogged to catch up.

"This is where we put Gerald!" Sanford said, running in-between the two smashed buffs the roach had made in the two homes. "We didn't check on him!"

"Well, what happened to 'im?!"

Sanford almost responded by just jabbing a finger at the Deathclaw- but, all he did was grumble, and answer falsely.

"Debris hit him."

"Is he alright?"

"It knocked him out cold."

"Aw-hell!"

Sanford jogged around the bend of the house- he stomped up the porch steps with heavy falls against wood planks- Fred was right behind him with this weird startled, partly-still-intoxicated mesh on his face- and the Deathclaw hadn't even caught up in her bored trot when Sanford tore the back door open.

The knob of the door looked comically small in the big gauntlet the suit sported- Sanford twisted it lightly, and let the entry squeak aside.

"Gerald?" He asked- he looked down on the wood floor, and saw the spot that they had lain the poor Ghoul on, was, as fate would have it- empty.

"GERALD! Holy mother-mcreery', Gerald! Where are ya'?!" Fred slithered in a quick squeeze underneath Sanford's arm and into the frame, he vanished around a corner in the house's interior, and Sanford heard his boots clotting around, before the Ghoul let out a gasp. "GERALD! There ya' are!"

"-Not so loud, Fred'! My head's killing me..."

"What happened, brother?"

"I don't know... Something hit me, went black... Lots of.. OW...Pain..."

"Alright, buddy', c'mon out, that Sanny-guy blew up the roach."

"Sanny-guy...?"

"Yeah- used the Nukalizer to blow that bitch sky-high!"

"Sanny-guy... Oh, OH-! H-He did?! He got it to work?!"

"Yep!"

"How?"

"Ask him yourself, c'mon."

Sanford turned to back out of the frame when he saw the Deathclaw trudging up from the side of the house.

She sighed tiredly and leaned her scaly arms over the wooden guard rail on the side of the porch raise- she laid her chin on her wrists, and looked at him in a bored narrow of her eyes. It was so... Weird, yet, funny at the same time to see the fearsome creature with that expression.

Sanford smiled at her in a tiny chuckle.

"Lucky for us, he apparently doesn't remember you smacking him."

"He doesn't need to know that, monsieur'."

"Mmhm."

The two Ghouls clambered out of the doorframe, and Sanford saw that Gerald had taken off his welding mask, and had a hand on the top of his head as he stood beside his best friend, and they both gazed to the Power Armored savior of theirs.

Gerald was smiling faintly- trying his best to ignore the splitting headache- Sanford was just relieved she hadn't injured him.

...Though as revealed over the last few days, she didn't really seem... CAPABLE, of hurting an innocents. Maybe he was just over thinking it, maybe he was being too assumptive- but, he liked the idea of it.

"Are you alright, Gerald?"

"Alright?" The Ghoul smiled with his yellow teeth. "I'm great! I mean- minus the headache... Y-You saved our buns, Sanford."

"Nah, I couldn't have done it without my friend here." He nodded his helm to the Deathclaw, whom, did her best not to focus any response to it.

"Well, whatever the case... You found the Nukalizer?"

"That I did."

"Can we see it?"

"Yeah, of course."

Sanford reached over his back, the suit creaking as he did so- he uncoupled the bulky weapon from where he had magnetized it to his back plating of the armor's cuirass.

Brandishing the weapon, he held it for them sideways, and nodded at the six-barreled wonder, balancing the makeshift doomsday device in his fingers.

Gerald and Fred leaned forwards with their mouths partially agape- it was creepy, but, he supposed it was warranted, seeing as this was a beloved invention of theirs that had been taken from them.

"Covered in roach goop or not... It survived! Amazing!" Gerald coughed with laughter. "You believe that, Fred?"

"Ugh! It stinks like tuna-casserole!"

"...Damn it, Fred, really?"

"But hey! A faint hint of tuna is acceptable for a bad-ass gun like this!"

"I'll never know how the both of you made a super flamethrower that uses Soda," Sanford shook his head. "But this weapon saved all of us."

"That's why you're keeping it." Gerald smiled, looking up, breaking his vision from the gun. "I did say all our weapons that you wanted, are yours, man."

"...You sure?" Sanford grinned.

"Positive."

"You want some Jet for the road, buddeh'?!" Fred interjected with an excited bounce in his stance.

"No thanks...?" Sanford angled his head back.

"HMMPH! More for me!" Fred scrambled back inside the house, past Gerald's arm- he was tugging something from his back pants pocket when he vanished around a corner of a doorframe inside.

Gerald turned and gazed sadly at where his friend had gone- he faced Sanford again, frowned, and shrugged.

"He wasn't always like that, you gotta' understand."

"It's completely fine, Gerald." Sanford craned the gun over the back of his suit, and there was a metallic **_CLUNG_** -as it magnetically stuck for later usage. "I'll take the SMG, this baby, and I'll be off."

"B-But what about the other Tommy's? O-Or your payment? I have a sack of caps in the-"

"Gerald," Sanford held a hand up. "I'm a scavenger at heart, I don't need those as much as you do. What do you have? Like, three guns left?"

"...I mean... Well, YEAH, but you-"

"You're only two, you guys need them, not me. Me and my friend have what we needed, and now we have to find someone- that's the goal overall."

"...You're noble, Sanford," Gerald shook his head. "People will take advantage of that."

"I won't let them."

"I pray you won't."

"It was good to meet you, Gerald, best of luck."

"S-Same to you too, Sanford. A-And find some more Quantum- that gun will come in handy, I bet."

The Ghoul extended an open palm- and Sanford lightly reached up with his gauntlet, intertwined fingers, and gave it a single shake.

Gerald noted the strength of the grip with a chuckling nod- and the two people that had been born anew from the same age and time that was long dead- found a reserve of clarity and great friendship in that one moment, out of the whole day.

Sanford Tobs left his mark on yet another group of human beings- and as he stalked down the dark streets of the town now cleared of mutated horrors- the Deathclaw trailing behind him, he could feel Gerald's eyes on the back of his suit as he cleared out for the road.

The steeple was passing by on their left- behind just a few houses- as now, Sanford planned on heading out for his own fortified home- as, he believed that was where Hancock would undoubtedly head for himself in such a crisis.

Deep down, through the relief of succeeding against the odds again- he hoped his robot, his friend- was okay.

The Deathclaw was quite silent as she trotted behind him towards his flank- she had her gaze locked on his shoulder pauldron, because she couldn't see his helm from the angle she was in.

"...I'm glad you're unharmed, monsieur'." She put out into the night softly.

"I'm okay, I'm glad you're okay too- we live another day." Sanford said. "Haven't had these kind of fights in months."

"Months only, hmm?"

"Me and Hancock are always getting shot at- it's old news."

"Has there ever been a day where there isn't a fight, for you?"

"Uhmm... I mean, yeah... Yeah, yeah there has."

"How often?"

"Sometimes me and Han' were able to lay low for awhile... A few weeks at a time, kept me sane."

"...Can I ask something heavy, Sanford?"

"Anything."

"...How do you kill so many things and cope with it the way you do?"

"...Um... Wow, I... I dunno'... I never think about it. W-Why? I act weird? Sound weird? Have a twitch?"

"No, nothing of that sort, monsieur'. I was just curious."

"...Okay." Sanford glanced to their left, staring through the night-filter vision of the helm lenses to the shadow of the steeple in the backdrop. "Hey, hold up,"

"What is it, monsieur'?"

"You want to check out that steeple? We never really got to look inside."

"...Sure."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Alright- maybe we'll find some SPOOKY things, hmm?"

"Stop that, monsieur'." She snickered. "I've seen enough... 'Spoo-ky' -things today."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

With the overhead aura of consistent knowledge- that something big and mean was inside the steeple, now gone- the building amazingly did not come off as evil-ish', in the nighttime atmosphere.

As Sanford trotted across the street that lead to the smashed wooden doorframe and stone stoop, his boots crunched through piles of wood and corpses of roaches- he angled his helm up to view the belfry above, and he decided that the steeple gave off this Transylvanian/stereotypical vampire vibe for him.

If there was a full moon just behind the belfry, with some bats orbiting around it- the scene would've been perfect for one of those old horror movies he'd watched when he had been a child.

It was crazy to imagine, that years and years ago, all those monsters and mutants and undead that he saw in the movies weren't real, and he could tell himself that at night with factual evidence- and the child that would become him as a man would sleep soundly.

But today, a lot of those monsters were real. There was no comfort to be taken in that such things only existed in nightmares- for now, mutated after two-hundred years of Earth's environment being eaten away, beasties prowled the landscape and hid in dark places.

This was but one place that had become infested with evils that they had wiped out- Sanford knew, there would be ten to replace it.

He stepped over the sidewalk just before the dead grass of the steeple's property- he bent down with a boot in the plant matter, and peered inside the ragged gash he had made when the roach threw him through the wall up here.

Inside, all those broken computers, all those failed weapons projects and pre-War machinery would rot- and whatever other inventions the Ghouls had made, had obviously not survived the roach's habitation of their lab.

He honestly hoped Gerald and Fred could fix at least some of the things in there and get started again.

"All that tech'," He shook his head as the Deathclaw formed up behind him, watching him. "Ruined. Ruined by a bug, I can't believe it."

"I believe the saying is... 'Shit, happens'-?"

"Ha! Yeah, yeah that's it."

"Mm."

"It sure is an old building, right?"

"Mm."

"Let's try to go inside."

"...Is that wise?"

"It's old, but the floor held me. It did until I smashed through it with a body-slam."

"I don't think I can fit, monsieur'."

"Nah, you can fit." Sanford stepped around and up the stoop- thoughtfully eyeing the big red door that had been nearly torn off its hinges, the piles of dead roaches, the planks lying around- with every footfall he crushed another bug, or part of one. "Ew. Just, um... Mind your step."

"What did Gerald say this place was, monsieur'?" She asked, cautiously worming her heels in tip-toe steps to avoid crushing the dead roaches and getting more guts on her than there already was.

"He said it was something for the Civil War, like, a museum or a memorial."

"It's an odd building for that."

"It is, I mean," He pointed up at the higher levels with a glance. "You couldn't outwardly tell I bet before the war... Now, you can't tell at all, right?"

"Mmhm." She mused.

Sanford ducked through the frame, and she followed when the bulky suit dematerialized into the shadowy interior of the steeple's main building block.

Her vision adjusted to the darkness, and Sanford blink-activated his nighttime vision for the helm's lenses- they both stood right after the doorway to examine a gaping trench that Sanford's fall had torn into the floor.

Down below, they could see the faint outlines of detail from the basement level- and breaking from that, the Deathclaw glanced around at the destroyed display cases, the ruined bookshelves.

"...Are any of those still readable?" She nodded at them hopefully.

"Them? Probably not, it looks like there was a fire here, long time ago- or it could've been the after-burn from the fallout." Sanford cautiously stepped in line with the thin boards of floor that remained intact before the great, oval-like hole torn in the floor. "Watch your step."

The Deathclaw had to slide her feet sideways to avoid leaning over the gash in the floor- she still kept her eyes fixated on the ragged edge of the drop to assure herself otherwise.

Sanford heard the board floor creak with each step he made- it gave him a cringe, he remembered the weightless feeling he got when he had fallen through the floor. The bookshelves, up closer for inspection now- were as dilapidated as Sanford originally saw when he had first glanced them over.

The shelves were cracked, sliding down in places with all kinds of mangled books piled and laid all over.

"...Huh, here's an- 'Herbal Tea Brewing' -recipe book." Sanford chuckled lowly, reaching up- he clenched the spine of a burned, thin text- and partially pulled it out from its position between two larger books. Dust slithered out everywhere, and the paper crumpled. "Too bad it's mangled."

"Mm..." The Deathclaw was picking through the texts with angles of her snout, leaning closer. "Tres' triste'..."

"What?"

"It's sad, to me. Reading is such a simple thing... I haven't been able to do simple, innocent things in a long time, monsieur'." She sighed, looked upwards at the second level of the main building- shrouded in darkness with its wood railing. "...This place is haunting."

"A lot of the old buildings are pretty haunting."

"I mean it in a deeper way, monsieur'."

"How so?"

"There used to be a greater meaning behind this place... Education, remembering the fallen of a conflict that happened a thousand years ago, if that Ghoul was accurate in his knowledge..."

"-Yes, I think he was," Sanford glanced back at some of the books- seeing titles like- 'Uniforms of the Union'- or, 'Model Rifles of the 19th Century'. "I don't know what happened to the other memorabilia... Probably stolen, destroyed."

"At any rate, monsieur'," She turned and blinked at him. "In the strange light of being in here, without those damnable insects- this building is just..."

"Lonely?" Sanford suggested.

"...Yes."

In the shadowy presentation to her looming, scaly body- Sanford looked the Deathclaw in the eye, and he trailed a bit around her shoulders and clavicle- finding the most awkward sense of observation for something that wasn't really... NORMAL, for him.

He didn't get that flaring coldness in his veins when she smiled at him.

"It is strange," She admitted. "My hide would crawl whenever you were in close proximity to me."

"I was thinking the same thing. Wanna' disregard all logic and everything we've known and just rush into relations?"

-A while ago, she would've literally killed him.

But now, she laughed at him- her fanged, long mouth opened, and she LAUGHED at him in this hybrid of being flustered, to actually taking the joke well.

"Cochon sale'!" She waved a claw at him. "Dirty, dirty pig!"

"I'll snort, I will do it."

"Don't." She breathed out heavenly. "Let's go, monsieur'."

"Already?"

"Yes, please."

"-'PLEASE'-? Holy crap, I never thought I'd hear that from YOU."

"Big surprise, you heard it. Now let's find your flying waste-disposal-can."

"That he is, that he is."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Miles and miles away from where Sanford and his Deathclaw friend had surmounted the giant roach- there sat the subject of the man's internal troubles, the robot, the Mr. Gutsy named Hancock- and at this current interval, Hancock was pinned down.

Hancock was pinned down in the most drab way possible- Hancock had all the ability in the world to BREAK this pinning, destroy the one enacting said pinning, and fly away to continue his search for his friend- all in a single motion, but he didn't do it.

Hancock was pinned, but also- Hancock was a diluted freak, who was convinced that he could- 'Talk to' -the other robotic organism in question, that was the reason for his immobile stance.

"If I buy you ice-cream, would you consider listenin' to- THE HAN'?"

"No- ** _vvmmmmm_** -!"

A pock of laser shots glanced the other side of the raised terrain that Hancock compressed his chassis against.

Thruster powered down, limbs draped at his sides lazily, and two ocu-lenses lowered to observe his claw fiddling with his buzzsaw- Hancock had been badgering the disabled Assaultron in the crater he had blown around her for the last hour or so.

"What if I sing a song promoting the bad-assness of Capitalism in the stead of being RED! That always got the spirits up in the barracks bloc-"

"NO! Nev ** _nnnnnnnnnnnn_** -Never!"

"You're un-pleasible, woman!"

"Can't even **_fffffffrrrm_** -form proper words-!"

"I have unique tastes in vocabulary!"

"-Just- ** _VVNN_** -DIE!"

"Bah! I've been told to die so many times I don't even recognize it as being directed towards me anymore, honey!"

-The only response Hancock got was another group if red beams slashing into the dirt over and behind his little ridge that protected him from the Assaultron's fury. She was still broken down there, stuck in the center of the crater- and Hancock had been sitting here trying to convince her battle-addled self that he could repair her.

He knew it made no sense, and that he would've been better off firing a SECOND rocket into the crater and forgetting about it all- but Hancock got this drive towards a result which saw the Assaultron not being destroyed.

After all, interacting with apes all day did kind of get maddening after awhile- even if he was fully out of his central processor by this point. Hancock never met any robots that he didn't have to shoot before they could talk up until now- as most of his kind were in even worse shape than himself.

So here came this Assaultron, and it turned out that the GUNNERS, had gotten to her first. What the balls? Where was his luck?

"Got flushed down the bowl and catapulted into the cesspool of Tom-fuckery' and hell a LONG time ago..." Hancock relented for himself with a grumble. "I hate my life."

If the Assaultron heard him- she didn't make it known to any other kind of response than even MORE lasers flying around in his general direction.

Hancock waited for the fire to slacken, and kept himself busy looking around his scanner monitors and the physical area of the dirt lot and hills around him. There were still Gunner corpses that were crackling in the night as the flames still worked their heat on their singed flesh.

Some of the bodies hadn't stopped burning for hours, and some of them were still covered in flickering embers- Hancock laughed at it.

"At least your friends are here to give me a nice campfire, baby-cakes!"

There was no laser fire from THAT comment- Hancock angled an ocu-lense over the raise in blasted earth and gazed into the crater.

"Oooohhh, honey? You alright back there-?"

 ** _CLM CMLCM CLM_**

 ** _CLM_**

 ** _CLM_**

-He ducked back down when the lasers started flying.

There was so much dust flying around above him from all the times she'd shot the wall of the crater, it was crazy.

"If only I had some kind of... Uhm... DAMN! What did that ape call it? SANFORD! If you're dead! Help me from the great beyond!"

...Hancock obviously received no response.

"-BAAHH! Fuck your own face, you pudgy cherub!" Hancock glanced up with an ocu-lense, grumbled, and tapped his buzzsaw on the ground with a few metallic clacks. "Welp'! I'll be back dearest! I'm off to vent my anger on those unfortunate to cross me and my friend!"

Hancock's thruster lit up, and he shot up and away from the direction he had come- beelining it for the edge of the lot, and back into the hills- as if he hadn't just wasted half-a-day of his time berating an incapacitated fellow robot.

Ignoring the brief flicker of red from a few laser shots she loosed off into the night behind him- he called back one last time, his passing making the flames on a corpse waver about as he flew over it.

"I expect dinner when I get back, hon'! Bacon and eggs!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

There was a road that extended east from the fringes of the development- and that was the direction they needed to head if they were to reach the fortified Gas Station that Sanford and Hancock had built for themselves.

However, the vindictive nature of his combative side, and the fact that he was awfully angry at having his friend taken away from him- combined to make Sanford suggest, that they first wipe out the Super Mutants that had captured and attempted to eat them.

"I think we should kill all of them." He told her as they looped around and started walking through the open terrain they had crossed to reach the town in the first place. "We can get my shotgun back, and I'm sure they've gathered some pretty potent weapons after all that time camping there."

"Monsieur', I only agree with this because I'm itching to get payback."

"Ah, good- then I don't have to explain my second reasoning."

"You think we're capable of taking down an entire camp of them?"

"Do you want to stay behind?" He asked seriously, stopping his walk to angle the suit at her- he already had one of the two SMG's in his grip, and he sounded at his darkest- it made her look in awkwardness, she wasn't used to that.

"...No," She squinted, arms draped at her sides. "No I don't. I'm not going to see you go into that place alone like that."

"Then we are perfectly capable of wiping them out." Sanford smiled- falling back into step. "These hills were a bitch to walk through and now I gotta' do it again... Pfft."

"What of their little chieftain?" She asked, knees getting higher in her steps as the terrain inclined upwards. "He seemed rather armored."

"He's mine, don't touch him." He responded quickly. "I'm gonna' kill him last."

"...Monsieur',"

"What?"

"There is a difference between looking at a fight strategically, and just running in without a plan. It increases the risk."

"I'm aware of that- but me and Han' have had times where it was needed, and, I'm not gonna' say it's NEEDED here, but I'm angry enough that I want to."

"If you think that will solve this problem, je' suppose'."

"It'll be fine- I've been doing this too long to let these green bastards take my friend from me without a fight."

"Can we talk about something else?"

"...Yep," He grumbled, looking off into the night away from her. "I'm just... I'm really angry."

"Understandable."

"...Hm... Hey,"

"Yes?"

"Maybe when we get back to me and Han's home, I can show you my old house, the one I lived in before the war."

"It still stands?"

"Amazingly- and it's a five minute walk from the station me and Han' fortified."

"That sounds intriguing. How much of it is left?"

"The ceiling is still up if that tells you anything."

"So a shell?"

"A shell indeed."

"I'd love to."

"That'll be a trip down the memory highway, even though I've walked through it before... Every time I go back, I remember something else."

"Did you have a family two-hundred years ago?"

"Yeah, I told you- ma' and pa'."

"Anyone else?"

"...No, no not really. I think my mother was an only child, and I think my father was an only child too- a weird thing, my dad said it must've ran in the genes," Sanford laughed- looking around the dark hills in light observation. "I miss them some days."

"Only some days?" She had her eyes sweeping too- the last thing either wanted was to run into something ELSE on this crazy night and not be ready for it.

"Meh, I dunno'."

"I miss the few allies I held over the years."

"...Hm. Some days?"

"Every day."

"Oh. How many?"

"How many what?"

"How many were there?"

"Allies?"

"Were they friends too? Or just, they were there entirely for the mutual benefit of working together?"

"...I had an elder in my pack- he didn't have a name, he treated me like his child."

"You appreciate that? Or get annoyed by it?"

"Both." She smiled. "He was kind, I respected him."

"And he didn't have a name?"

"The pack was in this strange limbo of grasping human culture with their intelligence," She shrugged. "None of them had names, but they all kind of understood what they were."

"And where did they live? All these other Deathclaws?"

"The borders of this place called -'D.C.'- I hope I said that right."

"Borders of D.C. and what?"

"...Vir... VIR-Something... Virginia! Yes, Virginia. Titres' humaines'..."

"Wow, that's... Far."

"I did say I've been running from the Enclave for years, Sanford."

"I never doubted- it's just more proving to hear it from you."

"...There was another, a younger one, around the same aging as mine."

"Like... I don't know, did you call them- 'Children'-?"

"No, we called them younglings, or whelps. And no, not that kind of age."

"So... Young adults?"

"I suppose?"

"Alright."

"It was a male, he never had a name either. I wronged him greatly before he died."

"How so?"

"I always saw his attention as a pestering annoyance... All he wanted to do was understand me, we were so different, and I was this alien newcomer."

"He tried to talk to you, and, you brushed him off, sort of thing?"

"Yes."

"And he died before you could leave him with something involving less animosity?"

"Mmhm."

"I know how that feels. I never told my parents I loved them before they were gone. I had a fight with the only kid on the block I was friends with before the bombs, and, he and I had been great pals'."

"Have you and that robot ever fought?"

"Hancock? No, actually. Isn't that amazing? He's out of his gourd and me and him never really argued or got loud about anything... We've disagreed, but, nothing major. He's a good friend- if really insane."

"I suppose I haven't known him to understand."

"I mean, I would understand if you didn't want to travel with me, because of Han'," Sanford said. "He's... Difficult, for others to deal with who don't know him. He requires a lot of patience."

"No, I don't think I'll change my mind for the robot."

"That's good."

"Mmhm."

"You've smiled more times today, than the last few combined."

"...Perhaps I have."

"That's good too. And, you know, just to change the subject- I'm starving!"

"Just thought of that now, hmm?"

"Well I'm running out of good stuff," Sanford reached down to the scorched, roach-blood licked rucksack on his thigh- he lifted the flap over, dug around, and came back with a white cardboard box that had, written in red letters- _YUMYUM, Deviled Eggs_.

"I'm gonna' get the shakes if I don't eat something..." Sanford used his gauntlet to tear into the side of the box with a tearing sound- used his armored thumb to straighten the tear he made, and then reached up to take off his helmet. "You want anything?"

She watched him attach the helm in a mag-grip on his hip plating- and nodded.

"Sur'."

"...Was that a yes?"

"-Yes, sorry, I'm so used to being alone and talking..."

"It's fine. I'm thinking..." He shuffled around in the rucksack, stopping his walk briefly to angle his leg higher. "...I'm thinking Sugar Bombs won't be good for you, right?"

"Do you have meat?"

"Yep- it's processed, and not fresh, but... Here! Salisbury Steak?"

"Anything."

"Alright, here, I'll open it for you-"

"No need."

"...Okay, here ya' go."

He handed her a little red box that was eroded enough that no words or imagery on it could be discerned. She opened her palm, and he placed it in the center- before leaning back and tipping the eggs over his mouth- she saw a few rounded, whitish shapes slide out.

Sanford chewed quietly, and squinted at the side of the box.

" _Tu' hunwed anb' fiphtween yeer's acspiwed'."_ He muffled, shaking his head slowly _._ " _Damb_."

She took her own ration in a careful grip between two of her fingers- and slowly used the tip of her other claw's pointy to jam into the little foldable side she had seen him tear into.

She slid the nail downwards and created the little trench effortlessly in comparison to his brief tugging match with the egg box- she peered inside and expected the horrors of packaged, ancient human slop to grace her sights.

Inside there were these thin slabs of brownish meat in a brown gravy- it looked... Nasty, to her.

But, it actually smelled pretty decent.

She leaned closer and sniffed at the contents, hummed in consideration- and thought- _Whatever_ -before tipping the whole thing over her opened, fang-riddled maw.

The entire meal was gone in a single second of her clapping her jaws shut, chewing once, and swallowing.

Sanford had just eaten the last egg, and stood there mid-chew with his eyes wide.

"Damn," He swallowed. "That was fast."

"...Do you have any more?"

"You liked that stuff, huh?"

"Possibly. Was that a yes or no?"

"A French Deathclaw who likes Salisbury Steak," Sanford laughed, pulling out another package of the stuff. "This Wasteland is fucking insane, and I LOVE it."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	26. Chapter 26

**CHAPTER 26**

 **Incoming.**

* * *

Through alleyways of brick buildings that were strewn with dumpsters, piles of debris and trash- with aisles sometimes boarded up or barricaded with makeshift roadblocks- they had trekked through Boston City, and they had sought out their target quickly and expediently.

When they found it, gunshots rang out for nearly thirty minutes, coupled with screams and hollers- they obliterated the one thing that stood before them in effort of hampering their mission.

"I found a live one, sir!" Hancock called over to Sanford's position- his buzzsaw still whirring a mist of red about it from fresh blood. The robot peered over a pile of wooden boards with his own ocu-lense.

"RRAGH!" Sanford cried- wrenching a Raider woman's corpse from the girth of a forearm-length machete he had taken up during the long fight. The body slid away and clambered onto the dirt, still, with a gash in her gut that ran all the way through.

Breathing heavily- Sanford wiped some of his dead foe's blood off his forehead, and sighed with a heave of his shoulders- peering over a path of dead towards Hancock, who was waving his claw for him to come over.

"...What is it?" Sanford snorted, stepping through the twisting, piled limbs of the Raiders he and Han' had caught out in the open.

They'd gotten the jump on the thugs- opened fire with both submachine gun and Plasma gun at a big gathering of them in the center of the aisle lot- killed half the gang before the others could hide and shoot back.

In contrast to the bleakness of spilled crimson below, the sky was surprisingly blue and clear between the rectangular roofs of the city- giving off a cool breeze that whispered over shingles and concrete tops of the varying apartments and businesses that lay as blasted shells.

Quiet had taken over quite quickly once the last of the gang he and Hancock had tracked for the past two days, had fallen- and now that the crazed marauders were all gone, Sanford and Hancock started to look around for what they had come for.

Settlers in an organic farm, called Winchester's- had established a small community for themselves, and they had been attacked by Raiders who carted off a handful of people to sell off to slavers in the south.

Sanford and Hancock trekked across half the Commonwealth to reach them in the center of the city- it was a mighty relief and satisfaction to shoot and slash every single one of the murdering pieces of shit dead at this rate.

Yet as Hancock grasped the boards with his claw, and slid them away one by one- that feeling of relief, the feeling- 'Ha! I killed all of them! I'm cleaning the gene-pool!' -that got Sanford all amped up about who and what he was- it all drained away when he saw what he saw.

The settlers said that around six people had been taken- but all Sanford saw here, were two.

There was a young boy- he couldn't have been older than fourteen- and in his arms was this terrified little girl, no older than five.

They were both in rags, and they had multiple bags under their eyes and grime matting their faces- which were both so dark in filth, that the whites around their pupils contrasted greatly with everything overall.

The boy had speckled crimson matted on his face- and Sanford realized it to be blood.

Hancock- up until this moment in time, which, would stick with both of them- hadn't adjusted his code, his- 'Emotions' -or the programming that made his amalgamation of them- to suit situations like this. So naturally, the following happened.

"How ya' doin' little cadets?! You wanna' help ole' Hancock the Commi' whacker, blow open some faces?"

The children were visibly shaking the louder and louder Hancock got- and for the first time in their relationship as friends and fellow fighters- Sanford looked at his robot deathly, and grit his teeth.

"Hancock, STOP."

"-Don't gimme' that crap, monkey-man! I just found me two perfect MIN-SPIES! They'll infiltrate the Communist facilities through the dog-doors and the like-!"

"Hancock, shut the fuck up." Sanford growled lowly to keep them from hearing. "I said shut the fuck up NOW."

"...Aye... Sir..." Hancock levitated backwards- stunned.

Kneeling down to the boy, Sanford put effort into laying the bloodied blade he had been holding somewhere behind him- slowly- so the boy wouldn't catch on- and he smiled as best he could.

"Hey, little man." He greeted. "My name's Sanford, and the big metal goofball is named Hancock. We're here to bring you home, your parents are worried sick and they miss you."

The girl started making this awful, awful little whimpering sound and it broke Sanford's heart- she buried her head in the boy's raggedy shirt and started crying.

Maybe mentioning ma' and pa' wasn't such a good idea- the boy looked at him, and, instead of an expression of anger or fear- he just looked... Lost, and in space, even. Sanford saw that the dried blood on his face wasn't his- and he looked about the girl to confirm it wasn't hers either.

"Are either of you hurt?"

The boy just shook his head slowly, keeping arms over the girl.

"...Is she your sister?"

He shook his head.

"...A friend, then?"

Nothing.

"Do you know where they put the other people they took with you?"

Nothing. The girl went silent.

Leaning back, Sanford cupped his mouth with a tightly-clenching hand, and looked about the alleyway- putting his ankles in front of the children for some attempt at blocking the array of dead Raiders behind him from their eyes.

He looked back at Hancock who had all three ocu-lenses turned to him expectantly.

"Han', are you picking up any lifesigns of human beings? Anywhere in here?"

"...No." Hancock gave his simplest answer that day- he'd never given one like it ever since.

"...Oh God," Sanford muttered into his palm- he glanced down and saw the boy raising his hand from the girl- he pointed at a big, brick building- the one that sported the wall they hid under the wood on. Sanford gazed at the building before him- and he saw a wooden green door next to a blackened, cracked storewindow a few feet away. "Oh God."

Reaching behind him- he picked up the machete and kept it behind his back- nodding at Hancock.

"Stay out here with them, Han'- don't let them follow me."

"Aye, sir." Hancock floated closer- and Sanford turned towards the door- where he swallowed dryly.

Clasping the door handle after a step of adjacency- Sanford turned it, and it creaked with a rattling pattern- the door eased open, and the darker shade of the building's insides disgorged into the bright day that was allowed in the alley pass.

Glancing inside, Sanford swallowed again- and his boots echoed against a tiled floor as he entered.

This was once a barber shop or some related grooming business- the floor was black and white tiled, there were three swivel chairs messed and ragged before a wall with a large, rectangular counter and mirror.

Garbage was strewn everywhere- and he was gifted a smell that he knew all too well.

He prayed for something he knew was going to be there, to NOT be there- and he traveled over to another door towards the rear of the lobby of the establishment- it was another wooden green door- chipped, matted.

He opened it with a creak of wood- and in this big empty room, there was nothing but a coupling of shelves that were gathered on the other side of the chamber- and on them were a series of power tools.

Sanford's vision was briefly locked to that- but then the overpowering stench hit him like a brick wall- and he looked down and gasped.

There were four bodies- they were all full grown, younger adults- three men, a woman- the Raiders looked like they God-damned flayed them- as they weren't even recognizable anymore. Sanford's jaw dropped- and he stepped out of the room with a curse.

"-Jesus Christ," He grunted. "Jesus fucking Christ-"

-Then, he almost stepped on the little girl- because she was standing right there, in the doorway- eyes thankfully unadjusted to the dark.

He gasped again and scooped her up in his arms- the machete clattering away onto the tiled floor.

"YOU GET AWAY FROM THAT DOOR, RIGHT NOW!" He barked. "Come with me- come on, sweetie, come with me. DON'T LOOK."

He put his glove over her eyes- and he was back outside in an instant- looking about angrily for Hancock.

"Stay right here," He mumbled to her, putting her down lightly, and seeing the boy still crouched where he was against the wall. "Where'd the robot go, little man?"

The boy pointed a quivering finger to behind Sanford- he wheeled around, and saw Hancock levitating there- and with his buzzsaw raised, and leveled with the grimy, dirty throat of a man Sanford knew to be a member of the very gang they butchered.

He breathed heavily- he was garbed in his undershirt and boxers- there was a poorly kept brown mohawk on his shaven head, and a nasty beard was beginning to sprout all over his jawline- he had these buggy eyes that darted everywhere, and he breathed heavily through his nose- his arms and hands were raised.

"...I ain't done shit, man... Tell ya' thang' here to ease it..." He snuffled.

Sanford felt his lip jumping with a disturbed twitch- his fingers were flexing.

He looked down at the man's undershirt- and it was clearly matted with spattered, dried blood.

...He did it.

"Hancock, where did you find him?" Sanford sounded monotone.

"They had the fucker in a closet next door," Hancock snapped. "Heard the lock ringing."

"Give him to me."

"Can't we just SHOOT him, sir-?!"

"I SAID GIVE HIM THE FUCK TO ME!"

Sanford grabbed the man by his shoulders- and Hancock could only sit there, floating, watching his friend shuffle the fearful prick towards the doorway of the shop he had just exited.

"GET THEM AWAY FROM THE DOOR!" He belted- and then, he grabbed the knob, and slammed the green entry shut with a slam of wood.

Reapplying a grip on the highwayman's shoulders- he felt the goon try to slip away- and for a moment there were squeaking boots against the tiled floor, grunts of effort- Sanford brought the man down on a single knee, and planted his fist into his forehead.

 ** _PWUGH!_**

-He did it loud enough that the hollow impact echoed throughout the store.

 ** _PWM_**

 ** _PWM_**

 ** _PWM_**

Sanford hit him until he grew still- he dragged the Raider towards the green, inner doorway- and he heaved him onto the floor with a ragged collapse.

The reeling man fell on his back- hands wrapped over his head- eyes wide, bugged.

"LOOK AT THIS!" Sanford cried- pointing to the horror right over the man's head in the middle of the room. "YOU DID THIS?!"

"...They was' gonna' do us in..."

"YOU FUCKING CHOPPED THEM UP!"

"...Gotta' keep in control... Keep in control, man-! D-Don't you see? They'z watchin'! The eyes! They all have eyes, man! They watch EVERYTHING!"

"Sick little, twisted, FUCK."

Sanford stepped out of the doorframe- he grabbed up the machete.

"You like chopping people up, huh? Is that what you fuckin' get off on, huh? CHOPPING PEOPLE UP?!"

"Iz' the EYES, man!"

"I'll show you an eye, you little bitch..." Sanford fell on a single knee- and he grabbed the hem of the man's boxer shorts. "You little, little, BITCH."

He pulled them down- sliding them between the man's buttocks and the floor- and he grimaced at the organ that came to view- the Raider kicking.

Sanford sneered- he aimed the sharp side appropriately, let the target partially drape over the grimy blade- before he jerked his arm upwards- and the squelch of wet flesh coupled then with the man's shriek.

"AAAAGAGGHHH!" He howled like a woman- it was such a feminine cry, that Sanford almost didn't carry through with the finality for the sake of that noise.

He wiped a fleck of blood that hit his cheek with his wrist- bent down again- and shoved away the Raider's flailing knees to line the machete up vertically with his stomach.

"TORTURING PIECE OF SHIT!"

-Flesh started to peel, the man kept screaming.

-It was almost ten minutes later that Hancock was still floating outside- waiting for Sanford to reemerge from the shop.

The children didn't even react when Sanford flew out of the door, breathing heavily- sweating up a storm, and covered in blood from the chest down. The machete he held was still dripping when he tossed it away- and gestured for Hancock.

The screaming inside, had long stopped.

"Go ahead of me, take them home, I'll catch up."

"...You do know it's a several mile walk, Sanny'?"

"Do as I say."

"...Sir." Hancock looked down at the two kids. "Let's go, privates."

Sanford was leaned up against the side of a wall as he watched the three vanish around the bend of a corner up ahead.

Hancock would spend the next two days getting those children back to the farming community in one piece- and Sanford never showed up behind him- he went back to the Gas Station, and he slept for two days straight, and didn't leave the bed.

Sanford almost hoped that nightmares of that intoxicated, sick freak would replace the ones of the nuclear blast he had been experiencing half his life- he was disappointed, too see that they only stood alongside the first nightmares.

Hancock knew what he did- he never talked about it, he never mentioned it- and for years after it happened, the incident in the barber shop was an unspoken terror that he and Han' had run into and experienced.

It was horrible. Horrible, horrible, HORRIBLE.

Sanford cut that man up- and he had never admitted it to anyone, not even Hancock, even though Hancock knew.

It was a part of the past, a part of all the things that Sanford had seen and done- that Sanford wished had never happened.

A nightmare, in reality.

...And the skeleton lying on the floor of the boxcar, brought that out to him. A skeleton, on the floor of a train car- Sanford just saw it, and, the whole memory just flooded back.

It horrified him.

Sanford had the first boot of his suit on the three step stilt that lead into the interior of a large boxcar that had been for a long decoupled locomotive- and outside were the hills of clear terrain for miles- and he and Deathclaw stood on a path of train tracks.

Running down the spine of a raised, rounded bump in the land- like a giant millipede- it stood out from the empty province surrounding them- and in the daylight, gray sky, it was easily seeable the bulky, Power Armor suit leaning in through the side panel of the car.

He and her had happened across the tracks, and this was the only boxcar that was present, he had wanted to look inside- and the thing was empty, save for a pile of mismatched bones on the wooden floor.

Sanford angled his helmet down at it- and when he found this memory, it glued itself to the inside of his skull and it wouldn't leave.

He almost felt like crying.

"...Monsieur'? Are you okay?" The accented voice behind him- snapped him from the memory.

Glancing over his pauldron, to back outside- he saw the Deathclaw carefully looking down for a second to step over a trailing bolt of metal from the railroad track- before looking back to him and frowning in concern.

Sanford's eye twitched, and he slowly worked an answer.

"Yeah... I'm fine."

"What's in that car?"

"...Not a thing. Empty."

Sanford reached for the large, iron handle on the sliding panel's edge- and it creaked shut with a final, rusty slap of steel.

He stepped down with a few whining servos- nodded at the empty tracks down behind where she faced.

"We're still walking?"

"That we are."

"Alright, let's go." He stepped past her with rumbling falls into the dirt- she stood rooted, and had an eye-ridge raised to the boxcar that he had so hurriedly detached from at her asking.

She wanted to look inside- but when he called her for a second time, she turned around and swiftly followed him to trot beside the extending tracks. They passed a dented, and scorched hide of a tanker car that had partially derailed.

Keeping a quick survey of it in her sights- she noticed him being awfully quiet.

"Are you sure you're fine, Sanford?"

"I'm good, let's get those Super Mutants."

"...Okay."

"...So how are you feeling today?" Sanford changed the subject after a pause- letting his arms swing lazily at his hips as he walked.

"Bien'."

"Good?"

"Mmhm."

"That's good."

"Have you traveled these railroad tracks before?"

"A few times. Me and Han' used them as a landmark- we'd follow them down to a certain point and branch off from there. How about you?"

"They're too open, exposed- I always stayed off tracks and roads."

"Well you've traveled from as far south as D.C. right?"

"Yes."

"Have you found great concentrations of people, like, BETWEEN those two places? I know there's a lot of folks in D.C., the Commonwealth, Virginia and Maryland..."

"No. I came across not even wildlife through half of the trip, actually," She said. "The place once called 'New York'-?"

"Yeah?"

"It's a barren crater- a great valley, and before I entered it I was terrified of it."

"Why's that? The radiation wouldn't affect you."

"No, but my clan had always told stories of weird, strange things there."

"You had members of your pack that traveled through the ruins of New York? And, YOU traveled through them?"

"So I was informed- and yes, I had to, it was quicker."

"The only thing we have here is the Glowing Sea... I know that's just a section of the fringes of that cesspool. There was nothing left from the start?"

"I passed through the city of Baltimore- after that it was dead, everything was dead, in these big valleys strewn with pieces of buildings and metal skeletons... It was an eerie place." She recounted. "I traveled for weeks- terrible, et lent'."

"Would you want to talk about it?"

"It's not a traumatic thing for me, so, I suppose... I didn't know tales from the middle of nowhere interested you."

"Well... It is interesting- no one really knows what's down there. I know Manhattan and most of southern New York is gone... But if what you're saying is true, then, Connecticut and Philadelphia and Jersey and Pennsylvania... They're all gone too."

"...Did you ever go to any of those places before the bombs fell, monsieur'?"

"I went on a trip to Manhattan once with my father, and I went again with both my parents for a 'Night on the town'- as my old man put it, hmmph," Sanford smiled sadly. "My old man."

"...Sanford," She blinked. "I was thinking- it might not be impossible to assume your parents are still alive, surviving somewhere. You said their prisons were empty? Did you ever think that, maybe they got out before you?"

"...I always wanted to make myself believe it, but... But why would they leave me? And why would they not seek me out after all this time if they had left me for whatever reason?"

"...I don't know."

"Neither do I."

"...I thought I'd just, suggest it, Sanford. Do with it what you will."

"It's fine, and I hope you're right."

"...The wastes of New York,"

"Yes! Don't leave me hangin' Ms. Angrypants, this is exciting!" Sanford laughed- and he laughed harder when a rock rebounded off his helmet with a hollow **_CLUNG_** -like noise. "Story time!"

"Stop that." She grinned.

"So you were saying?"

"What I saw?"

"You know, besides miles and miles of clear land, rubble?"

"Baltimore is very similar to your Glowing Sea- except, it's the entire city that is held in a toxic cloud, and Maryland is exposed to radiation storms like Boston. When I got past the city I started to notice that there was nothing... Not even the mutated scavengers were there.

The sky was green and broiling, dark, and there was a thick fog of sickly yellow and green. I couldn't hear anything besides the sound of my feet hitting the dirt, and a tiny breeze... I could feel the radiation that would have killed a human in seconds from where I was standing.

The land dipped three times for these huge valleys I came across- they were massive, and small oceans of radioactive material centered each one, sometimes I couldn't tell I was entering one of the giant valleys until I saw the center in the backdrop.

I was able to go around their centers whenever I came to them- it took me a long time, but I passed through the Glow Sea intact, I earned myself some scars, some experience' de' combat.

That was years ago... Here I am, monsieur'."

"And the Enclave chased you that whole time?"

"Non', non'," She waved a claw. "They wouldn't chase me again until I was in the Commonwealth for a few months- they weren't going to risk soldiers to try and track me through the ruins of New York- not even these powered frames you apes wear can save you from the radiation there."

"Yeah, well... Apes or not, you gotta' admit these suits are good."

"Mm."

"So the Enclave can just fly over that, and we're stuck on the ground," Sanford sighed. "Perfect."

"I've always figured out a way to do the impossible, Sanford," She looked at him with a toothy grin. "I never thought I'd meet someone who did the same. I'm not worried."

"...That's a strong thing to say," He met her gaze. "I appreciate the confidence."

Amid their walk, Sanford laughed with her for a second, and he watched the Deathclaw look back down at her feet meekly- it was crazy... She wasn't human, and she acted a lot like she WAS.

It had been around a week by this point- and the day/night interaction had made them something of a complete opposite from when her hand had been stuck in the gut of his armor. It was fascinating- he became used to the slightly taller, reptilian creature that had called him friend- and he got used to her smiling, and laughing, and speaking French.

It was the world's most awkward companionship- and Sanford didn't care, because it was so good to have another person with him, someone besides Han'.

He watched the extending tracks that branched out for miles in the distance- he briefly reattached himself to what he had mapped in his head- and he decided that it wouldn't be long before they came across a specific landmark he had in mind.

The Super Mutant camp was positioned right near an old trainyard- Sanford just knew it- because he and Han' had mapped out areas very close to this one in the past. That urban development, and the hills around it- he and Hancock had gone past them.

That meant that this railroad track was the closest he and his friend had gotten to making a direct route- unintentionally, of course -to the Super Mutants.

Sanford wanted payback- he was hoping they'd reach the camp at night, so they could jump the unsuspecting mutants.

Only time would give him that acceptance or declination.

"...Do you hear that, monsieur'?"

"...Do I hear what?"

"THAT." She blinked and looked upwards. Sanford looked straight ahead and followed.

 ** _crk crk crk crk crk-_**

-There was something metal. It was big, and it was creaking- like a wheel, or a crank.

Sanford heard his helmet giving him some kind of recognition scan alarm- he broke his eyes from the view ahead, and he blink activated a rune that was giving him confirmations of human life signs nearby.

That, and something really, really big was moving with them- and by them, there had to be thirty or more heartbeats.

"Oh crap." Sanford muttered- he looked back out over the tracks and adjacent clear land ahead- and he saw movement.

There were heads rising over a dip in the landscape- and they had... Hats on. Peculiar hats.

Sanford squinted- and the Deathclaw narrowed her eyes- and with those hats these people had dulled greatcoats, and they wielded large, two-handed rifle weapons over their chests.

...Even from the greater distance, Sanford could see who they were.

"Minutemen," He sighed. "Not good."

"Let's get off the tracks," She suggested. "Go off to the flank."

"They'll see us," Sanford grunted, he turned around and looked at the messed tanker car they had just walked past before. "Get behind the train car."

"Are you sure?"

"They're marching- they won't stop if they don't see anything- GO."

She scrambled backwards- and within seconds of him jogging over to the car, he just saw her tail finish following her behind the blackened metal of the tanker- and he crouched with a whir of servos behind the wheeled flatbed.

Gripping the side of the car, he compressed himself as close to the earth as possible, his suit purring- he looked over and saw her practically lying on her chest, and she was gazing from between two of the big, rusty wheels to view the clear land by the track's side.

They both hunkered and waited silently.

Soon the pattern of marching boots, idle mumbling- the creaking of a large object that echoed for miles across the landscape became louder and louder- the first row of six or eight guys- dressed in colonial styled overcoats with tricorne hats over their heads.

They had bulky weapons that looked like strange incarnations of rifles- each one a little different- they were Laser Muskets, and while slow to fire, they packed an unbelievable punch. The men and women stalked maybe fifteen feet by the side of the tracks- they were close enough that Sanford could make out facial expressions.

The Minutemen in the front had twenty or more behind them- and they were armed with all kinds of rapid fire weapons, and one of them was dressed in a dark blue coat with a feather in the hat- he carried a sword that was pulsating a ghostly blue in one hand and a bronze-looking pistol in the other.

The infantry started to work their way towards the leftwards edge of his and her visions- they were nearing the boxcar they had walked by only a few minutes ago.

Then, when Sanford was preparing to break his cover- another small cluster of Minutemen appeared on the other side of the car- and behind them was a team of robots- Protectron models, that had been painted blue and white with star patterns on their rusty hides.

Heavy modifications had been made to their torso chassis- they were bulkier than normal, and large tow cables were held in mechanical winches that were bolted and protruding from their large back plates just behind their dome heads.

The lines were tethered to two hooks on either side of a beastly looking gun- it was a gun so big, that it dwarfed a normal sedan automobile.

It had a wooden and scrap frame- like a catapult would, almost- it had four iron wheels that, ironically, looked like they had come from a train car long ago, and were fitted with hastily-applied tires.

The gun was of United States Army origin- Sanford knew the model as a howitzer, probably a 75' millimeter- they were outdated by the time of the Great War. The barrel was protruded upwards- and the gun's metal mounting was intricately bolted and built into the wood/scrap skeleton housing it.

The Minutemen towed with them an artillery piece- something they were feared for in the Commonwealth- and the wheels creaked and rattled up a storm, the ground actually vibrated beneath their feet, and small pebbles were falling off the rim of the flatbed of the tanker car they hid behind.

Sanford shook his head in amazement- and they watched the rumbling war machine gradually start to inch away towards the boxcar and the group of infantry that had long passed it.

In a few more minutes, the rumbling was faint- the squeaks hollow sounding again, and distant.

Sanford uncurled away from behind the train car with grinds of servos and crunches of metal- he gazed over the corner of the flatbed, and saw two more guys that were trailing behind the big gun finally vanish with their backs turned on the other side of the big boxcar down there.

He looked back at the Deathclaw and saw her eyeing the area the Minutemen went with caution- she stood from the ground, and rolled her scaled shoulders.

"...That was... Close?"

"Not as close or bad as it could've been," Sanford admitted. "I couldn't let them see you, they'd try to shoot you."

"And you, if you stood in the way, I'd think..."

"There are a lot of people that need a bullet in this place," Sanford stepped past her. "The militia aren't one of them."

"What was that large thing they were towing with the robots, monsieur'?"

"Artillery."

"...That still exists?"

"I haven't heard of another group in the Commonwealth who has it too," He nodded. "The Minutemen have power for it. We just have to be careful."

"Yes, Sanford."

"...I hope they don't find Han'."

"Why?"

"Han' would probably try to command them as their- 'Capitalist Commander' -or some shit... One time we ran into a group of Minutemen and Hancock pissed all of them off by claiming they should obey him, because he was George S. Patton."

"...Wasn't that a great general?"

"Yep. And I would've bettered the world by never relenting that knowledge to ole' Han'."

"Noted."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	27. Chapter 27

**CHAPTER 27**

 **The Haven Corp.**

* * *

The Vertibird had been flying for almost four hours- and it was a rather drab, uneventful travel that saw all six men inside dreadfully bored and silent.

Laslar had never been a talker- in fact, he kind of detested talking- it made him feel like he was wasting time. Because at the end of the day, Laslar saw all those things, those little, little things that such talks would revolve around as wastes of time.

Pleasantries, idle banter, social debates? He'd rather have a gathering at the M-100's command center every day than deal with those things with his own soldiers.

This was why so many men that were put in Laslar's unit without their volunteering would immediately sign up for transfer- and why so many others that were in other, more action-seeing units than their sleepy neighbor squads would sign up to complete said transfers.

Laslar frightened a lot of his comrades- and he didn't really have the attention span to anything he deemed non-important, to give two shits either way. These men's lives were just another form of ammunition for him- and ammunition was meant to be expended for all the right reasons.

He attracted all kinds of whack jobs and repelled all the weaklings- Laslar's squad was, after all- the progenitor for tens of the Enclave's most experienced soldiers.

There were eight officers currently in varying positions throughout the command staff that had spent their years as infantrymen in Laslar's squad- and Luft had transferred back after he ascended to the rank of Sergeant.

He and Luft had been in the same squad for years- and while Laslar would never take their coworker relationship into any farther description than status of tolerance- he certainly could not doubt that he and Luft were good at what they did when they worked together.

He mulled on it, and he glanced across the bay- saw Luft idling in his restraints, thinking about nothing and just waiting like he was.

The flight between operation theatres was always long, arduous and unnervingly quiet- and since Laslar had done it more than just a handful of times to understand that, he could accurately summarize that he wasn't the only soldier in the Enclave who had had their emotions completely sucked away.

Of course his emotions were dead for a LONGER time, albeit for completely different reasons- but the idea of anything more than an occasional stereotypical question of- 'Are we there yet?'- rebounding throughout the troop hold was just... Alien.

Sometimes Laslar wondered how the Brotherhood was when its soldiers were in transport- he wondered if there were actual friendships, or forms of kinship that made members of their ranks talk differently than in the Enclave.

He knew the general answer was yes- seeing as the Brotherhood were open to recruitment from the outside, and they didn't consider wastelanders the subhuman animals that the Enclave ranks did- but in a specific, deeper stance, Laslar had a weird little curiosity to what Botherhood members talked about during their free time.

They practically lived in their Power Armor suits- at least, the East Chapter under Mannesk did- but for all the 'Society'- that the Brotherhood claimed to sport, it was awfully hard for someone on the outside to see it.

And it was designed to be secretive- so, your average joe' couldn't figure out the simplest of activities rebounding in Brotherhood territory unless they were a part of it- but, Laslar was different- he'd infiltrated Brotherhood facilities, he'd KILLED more Brotherhood than he could keep track of.

Laslar had apprehended important data on both the Mideast and Eastern Chapters- and because of him, he and Eden knew where every single city in the northeast United States under Brotherhood control was, and they also knew about recruitment techniques practiced in the Citadel.

He was the Enclave's best agent on dealing with the varied factions of the Brotherhood- he'd done battle successfully with the Mideast, Eastern, Texan, AND Western Chapters- but with all that, he still knew so little of them in comparison.

The Western Chapter was almost non-existent nowadays- most of its strength had been funneled into the Mideast Chapter, and they might as well have been a separate entity in America. The formation of the army that would become the Texan Brotherhood also depleted the West's ranks, and that totaled for a mysterious and small group.

There were rumors that the Western Chapter had been disbanded- and that the survivors were simply absorbed by the Mideast Chapter- but, Laslar had his doubts. They were stubborn, even with their own kind- it was what held the Brotherhood back, their human nature, and their misinterpreted execution of morality.

After all, the way Laslar saw it- was that if someone was preventing you from attaining what was needed, a Plasma gun was a better solution- and for awhile the Brotherhood thought that too, but the following defeats at the hands of the NCR and the Master's Army showed that they did it ineffectively.

-So that was Laslar's argument. The Brotherhood just wasn't GOOD at being BAD, and, if one were to confront him for an answer to- 'How does one master being bad?'- he would probably respond with a laugh, and say- 'Figure it out.'

-As was the broiling storm of hate that boiled in his skull every day of his life.

Laslar hated pretty much everything. Even officers of the Enclave regretted him being in power- and that was saying a lot.

"Are you thinking again?" Luft chuckled at him from across the bay- it was a noise so disturbing in its nature, that it rattled away the pervasive silence all at once. "Bad things happen when you think, sir."

Laslar didn't immediately respond- he focused his eyes on the Sergeant and rolled his jaw.

"Where were you born, again?" He asked out of the blue.

Luft blinked, and shifted around.

"The Capital Rig, remember?"

"How long did you live there?"

"Ten years...? This is relevant?"

"Very. Ten years you say? You have a living facade?"

"Was lucky enough to."

"Did you have a father?"

"Yes."

"Did you have a mother?"

"...Yes?"

"Did you LOVE them?"

"..."

"Can you remember her face?"

"Who?"

"Your mother's."

"...No."

"-Ah, see that? Bad things happen when anyone thinks."

"...Mmhm, yeah... Sure."

"...What about your bootcamp campaign? Where was it?"

"The Capital Rig."

"How many times did you fail?"

"Too many times."

"Do you remember the worst of them? How they felt?"

"Yeah."

"Do you remember the feeling you had when the commissar handed you your infantry designation and tag number? And when the commentators clapped? When they APPLAUDED your successfully mounted struggle?"

"...Yeah."

"See that? Good things happen when you think, too."

"..."

Having theoretically slapped his comrade in the face- Laslar watched him sulk for a minute before angling his head over his left pauldron to gaze at the pilot's compartment- and the dark, bubble-like spaces where the two operators sat silently.

"Where are we?" He part called, and part used his communication uplink to reach them.

"Baltimore city airspace, sir," The pilot said. "No life signature's detected, skies clear."

"The usual. "

"Radiation levels spiking- welcome to Pennsylvania."

While Laslar and his squad couldn't see from inside the Vertibird- below them, after the varying blocky and square rooftops and mounds of fallen skyscrapers of Baltimore started to fade away behind them towards the south- a land of emptiness obscured in a thick blanket of sickly green came to life.

From this height, the three craters of the three respective nuclear warheads that had detonated on this portion of the East Coast looked like nothing more than a sea of diseased, swimming smog. The few skeletal sections of buildings that remained standing began to grow less and less frequent- flashes of yellow light rebounded from the depths and even from above.

The inside of the VB-02 rattled lowly- it was the beginnings of entering the fringes of the center airspace that was poisoned above former New York and Pennsylvania.

Once they were deeper into the massive Radstorms that always tore up the atmosphere- the Vertibird would experience periodic shaking fits that would begin to shift the crew and passengers in their seats, and not a single one would take it as a bad sign or a cause for alarm.

All Enclave personnel had to cross over New York airspace at some point- pretty much. There were some chumps on the West Coast who hadn't been exposed to the storms- but supposedly there was some other airborne anomaly that shook their Vertibirds around instead, so, the feeling for this flight was global.

The Vertibirds were modified to compensate for this weather- and they were sealed, so none of the radiation could get in.

The bumping around was annoying- but it was better than being dead, and Laslar had too much planned for, at least, HIMSELF, to afford being dead this early.

Those exact plans were what he was thinking of, anyway.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

They broke off from the railroad tracks in another few hours- having met with an old road crossing that Sanford knew connected to a route winding all the way down towards his own urban development from before the bombs.

They didn't follow the road, and they instead only wound down its pavement for about a half mile before Sanford started to recognize some of the closer hills to the Mutant encampment- and in addition, the Deathclaw had nodded up at the sky, and there was clearly a black tendril that was rising into the gray air.

Sanford observed the thick arm of broiling smog that rose as high as he could look up- he started off in the exact angle with her- and in moments, they found themselves hunkered down behind a pile of twisting brambles- observing a dip in the terrain up ahead.

Down below was the detailed Super Mutant camp- that now, as Sanford and her examined it, they grew curious to the layout of the joint that they hadn't had any time to examine during their brief, violent stay two days ago.

There were steel construction girders that were run through the fern-dabbled earth of the camp's exterior all over the place- some of them were a story or two tall, and they all had net-mesh sacks filled with stinking, raw meat hanging from their scab-colored surfaces via tied knots.

Some of the girders had full or partial human skeletons crucified on them- and some besides those, carried skeletons of decently powerful animals- there were bear bones, carved out shells of dead Radscorpions- nasty stuff.

And all the while, below that- there was a cluster of four metal structures- work buildings, probably set up by pre-War contractors two hundred years ago- they were bluish in tint, and ragged with all kinds of structural insecurities and dents.

A pair of rusted, blown-out trucks were parked by the larger of the cluster of four structures- there was a rectangular plat of concrete that was blackened, and cracked across its surface at the foot of the largest building- and Sanford realized that was the above skylight of the basement they had been dropped ago before.

There actually were a lot more concrete constructions that riddled throughout the encampment than either of them had previously seen- just behind the metal building, the big one- the terrain dipped slightly again, and Sanford could see a circular-shaped wall of concrete just peaking over the ridge.

He squinted at that- and looked back down at all the little shapes of the green-skinned horrors stomping about, arguing with each other loudly and hollering- there was a gunshot, and roaring laughter from multiple bodies.

"There's a lot of them, as we deduced," Sanford observed- he waited for his helm's scanners to finish processing the vicinity- and he hissed at the number of heartbeats that had been picked up. "My scans count thirty six."

"Merde..." She reached up and dragged a palm down her face with an exasperated grumble. "Thirty six? REALLY, monsieur'?"

"Indeed. Let's get to work. It's not dark, but it's doable."

"...That number doesn't give you second thoughts?"

"Not at all."

"...No. No we can't, this isn't going to work, we'll be dead."

"Listen to me, very carefully," Sanford looked at her and nodded- sounding a bit angry. "Me and Hancock have been shooting our way through the Wasteland for most of my natural life- and I wouldn't have survived this long unless I had built up a skillset for myself in lone combat. I'm going down there- are you?"

"...Sanford, this is ridiculous," She snapped. "We can't throw our lives away like this."

"For the love of God, I just said I'm NOT!" He grunted. "Do you not understand, that I understand my OWN capabilities?"

"What are you proving by taking on a small army?!" She did her best to control her temper- keep herself from getting really loud. "I DO understand, and I also understand that you're angry! Look at me! I'M the angry one, and even I say this isn't good!"

"...Than stay here."

"-NO."

"Then get out of my way."

"NO."

"Are you kidding?"

"Dead serious, monsieur'. I refuse, I'm not letting you boss me out of the way this time. I. SAID. NO."

The Deathclaw was hunched over him- her eyes were big and narrowed at the same time- a really intimidating display, and her fangs were out in a snarl, her fingers were flexing on either side of her.

Sanford kept his defiance and stood his ground- even though, while he wasn't afraid of her- he had developed an inability TOO be afraid of her over the last week- he was certainly terrified that they might hurt one another if she got physical in trying to keep him away from the camp.

Sanford's mind was racing with a hundred different emotions at once- on one hand, he was still infuriated at the Super Mutants, and he was feeling awfully vindictive- but on the other, his temper was gathering flame with his ally here, and also he was becoming paranoid of the previous possibility he considered.

He didn't want to disagree with her like this- and, at that, of course, he didn't want to disagree with her at ALL.

He huffed in a slow, deliberate exhale- and blinking at her, he looked away, and sneered at the Super Mutant camp for a few seconds, before turning back towards her.

She hadn't broken her gaze.

"...God damn it." He growled. "What could you have to suggest then? Hmm?"

"Wait until nightfall," She said through grit teeth. "You see just WHO provides this knowledge for you, yes? Monsieur'?"

"I do and it's pissing me off."

"Deal with it and humor me."

"Fine!" Sanford sat back further behind the bramble- he reached up, and his helmet bounced across the dirt with a few tiny clacks- the ground thudded, and he sat on his armored hindquarters, blinked his exposed eyes. "Fine, I'll sit RIGHT here, until we can move. Happy?"

She huffed at him and fell on a single knee to gaze slightly over their cover to the camp again- her jaw was rolling.

Watching her in silence for a few seconds- he gathered that she wasn't going to make eye contact with him again- and, still feeling his blood on the boil, Sanford bit and flexed his tongue between his teeth and gazed down at his own lap.

His arms crossed with a hiss of steel, and he shut his eyes.

He was so thin on patience after they had dealt with the roach- because now he couldn't find Hancock for two days, and it was the longest they had been apart- and they did better when they worked together.

Sanford was just afraid- he was afraid that his friend would get destroyed or damaged and he wouldn't be there to help him- and he was afraid because he still, really, didn't entirely understand the Deathclaw anywhere near the way he did Hancock.

Technically he and the reptile had been together for a week- and a single week had never made any kind of companionship he had heard of that actually lasted in the wastes- this would take time, and there were things they still didn't know about the other.

They'd spent what would soon be two days reaching this damned camp of Mutants- and he was tired, he was angry, he was worried, and he was experiencing a combined element of stress that made his attitude sour at the worst of times.

Now the Deathclaw was making him wait- she was prolonging the conflict he had been amped up to solve this very day.

He still had his eyes shut, and he still grumbled mentally about it all- he felt a tug on his leg from outside the suit, and he opened his eyes in a glance down to see that the Deathclaw had just retracted her claw, and pinched between two fingers was one of the books he had in the rucksack over his thigh.

Sanford raised a brow at her- he saw that it was the Greek Mythology tome again- and he also saw that she opened her mouth without looking away from the cover.

She snorted, snapped her jaws shut- and dropped the book into her open palm, before meticulously trying to work her nail in to turn the first page- grumbling to herself, glancing over the bramble again, and then redoubling her efforts with the book.

Sanford sat there and looked at her with a still hardened expression- he sighed, and leaned forwards with a whir of suit motors.

"Gimme'." Was all he muttered, holding out a gauntlet. "What page?"

"I'll do it myself, monsieur'."

"You can't, now what page?"

"..."

"Oh, just- give me the fuckin' book."

He snatched it from her with a clocking sound of the hard cover against his steel palm.

She didn't look up at him and kept her gaze to the ground by her folded knees- her tail was kicking up a storm behind her.

"What page?"

"..."

"Look, I'm just trying to make it easier for you, this is nothing else. What page?"

"...One eighty-two."

"Mmright."

"..."

"Here you go."

"Mm."

She bent down and angled away from him- burying her snout as deep as she could into the pages.

Sanford yanked out one of his last containers of cured water- he quietly tore off the pin and aluminum seal with a pull of his pointy in the gauntlet, and drained some of it while cupping the opening with his lips.

He gazed over the bramble for a second or two, watching them- and then he sat back and looked at the sky.

It was getting darker, but, they had a while to go before that made it harder for the Super Mutants to see anything.

 _Really great,_ he looked at the silent Deathclaw. _-And Anger-management is, well, ANGRY at me. Just great._

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

"Hey dad, is your name Sanford too?"

-This question came from the lips of a boy no older than eight, and he was smiling up at Mr. Tobs with this big grin that just made his father's heart melt whenever he saw it.

Sanford senior had been leaned over the kitchen table of their New England home, sipping coffee from a yellow-colored mug, holding up a fresh copy of the Boston Bugle, and he had been reading about the events in Canada over the last few months- so understandably his face was a bit grim.

But when his son pranced into the room asking the same darned question he always did whenever he wanted to talk with his good ole' dad, but didn't know what to talk ABOUT- Sanford senior's frown was rushed away with a playful grin.

A big brown-colored mustache hid most of his upper lip in this smile- and Sanford folded the paper in half before laying it on the checkered table-cloth of the kitchen centerpiece- he adjusted his glasses with a prodding finger and leaned over to his son by the side of his chair.

"My name's Sanford too? Gasp!" He kiddingly mocked. "I had no idea! Holy cow! I must be going crazy."

"You're always crazy, dad!"

"I am?"

"Yeah."

"I am. Good grief, and you never told me?"

"Yeah I did!"

"What?! Good lord, the madness."

"Yeah."

"'Yeah, dad, yeah'-" Sanford mimicked his boy. "Oh my boy, you're a cute thing."

"I'm too old to be cute, dad."

"That you are," He nodded, laughing. "And the answer is yes, my boy, yes. We named you after me."

"What was your dad's name?"

"Grandpa? Grandpa's name was Toby."

"What about your dad's dad?"

"Great Grandpa was named Henry."

"Okay."

"So what's happenin', kid?" Sanford gestured for the chair next to his, and his son climbed on with a squeaking of the chair's feet on the kitchen tile. "What brings you to the land of the kitchen?"

"Kitchen-ness?"

"Ha! Okay, and?"

"-Hey dad, what are you reading about?"

"-Uhm..." Sanford frowned at the newspaper on the table, and he shook his head at it. "-Nothing you need to trouble yourself with, my boy. The world just has freaky people in it sometimes."

"Oh."

"Yep."

"...Is it about Canada?"

"...Did mommy talk to you about Canada?"

"Yeah."

His father failed at covering his rolled eyes- but he recovered, and resumed his baleful smile.

"Yes. I was reading about Canada."

"What's happening there?"

"The, uh... The Canadians, are..."

... Really, what the hell was he supposed to say? That the Canadians were, in quote- 'Bad People'-? That they were impeding freedom? That they were the villains?

Sanford wouldn't see his son growing up as a bigot- he wanted him to be informed, and when he had gotten older he had surely given his boy more than one earful on the subjects eating up Earth.

But when that little boy was too little to understand any of it- too little to understand politics, military science, sociology, and what made people angry at each other- too little to understand that the United States military personnel of the 107th Airborne division had shot up a crowd of three-hundred unarmed Canadian protestors early Saturday morning- he had worded everything he said very carefully.

"-Let me ask you, my son," Sanford folded his arms over the top of the paper, looking down at the boy seriously. "What have you heard about Canada? About what's happening?"

Little Sanford was expressionless for a second, and he blinked, and sucked on his lower lip as he tried to think of something to say.

"...That the army is shooting people."

"Anything else?"

"And that the Canadians are being occafide."

"That's a lot. The Canadians are being, OCCUPIED, it's pronounced like that- 'Occupied' -my son."

"Okay?"

"The Canadians are being occupied and they are trying to make peace with us."

"...So why do the army guys shoot at them?"

"That's what has a lot of people angry, the army-" Again, he chose his words carefully. "The army have made some mistakes, and people have gotten hurt, and, people here and in Canada are very upset about it, and the army is trying to make peace with both sides."

"But dad, you told me that peace and violence don't go."

"That I did, but-"

"So if the army guys are shooting at Canadian protestors that aren't shooting too... Doesn't that make the army as bad as Nazi Germany?"

"-Let's talk about something else. Let's talk about something else right now."

...Sanford's good ole' dad. His father.

Sanford's father had been a brilliant man- he was smart, and he was a hard working individual, that, while he was not the best of talkers- he certainly had his mind set in the right direction for progress and success of himself and those around him.

His father was a veteran from the army- he had served in Alaska and Japan during the Chinese invasion, and he had taken a job after his discharging as a carpenter, and then a paper filer at a local RobCo office.

He had tried so hard to shield his boy from what was tearing the human race apart- and for a long time, to give him his credit, Sanford was kept in a cushiony little bubble of ignorance. He had no idea that the Chinese had suffered horrendous losses of human life being pushed from Alaska- he had no idea that the Canadians, who simply wanted their own country back- were being brutally oppressed by death squads and soldiers ordered to shoot protestors on sight.

Right as the United States was planning it's offensive through Alaska and the Aleutian Islands to retake occupied Japan and start moving through Russian territory to outflank the Chinese Army- an operation called Dark Fox, the warheads launched, and the world ended.

Operation Dark Fox would've probably worked out to be the deadliest military operation in human history- millions upon millions of people would've died in that single motion itself. That number was totaled under the sheer amount of death that plagued Earth from the bombs.

Sanford sometimes remembered his father, and when he remembered him, he sometimes questioned things like- 'What would my father have said, about this? Or about that?' -and he was left with a burning and cold void that had nothing but unanswered questions and mourning orbiting its interior.

His father had tried to protect him from just KNOWING about the horrible things happening every day- and now, Sanford was a full grown man- and he had seen probably more and worse off shit than his old man ever did in Japan and in Alaska during Operation Anchorage.

Sanford had taken life, he'd saved life and preserved it- he had watched people around him devolve into animals, and he had seen just as many a person break and fall into the shadows as he had ones that rose through them and became heroes.

...He wondered what his dad would say upon meeting him, today. Upon hearing what he had to say- upon hearing what he had seen...

What would dad say?

He didn't know.

He'd never know.

But it was a burning question. He wished his dad was here to answer it.

-And what would his mother say? Linda Tobs, the wife of his father, the wife that thought her son needed to be exposed to the events, instead of shielded from them.

For the few times in their marriage after his conception that Sanford senior and Linda Tobs disagreed- it was always over their son, and it was always over things like, when she told him about certain situations that sent his father over the edge.

"You said, WHAT?" He heard his father roar from behind their bedroom door- Sanford had been sleeping, and when he heard his dad start to get loud, he slowly sat up in bed and listened.

"He needs to know, Sanford!" His mother responded. "Don't you see? If we don't teach him about what is happening, he'll go out into a world he doesn't understand! Something he isn't prepared for!"

"-So that makes you think it's a good idea to describe to him the horrors that are happening in Canada?"

"He'll find out on his own without me," She warned. "You know that as much as I do- he's too smart, Sanford, too smart to be kept in the dark."

"This will screw with his head, Linda!"

"This is what will get his head on STRAIGHT."

"Damn it, Linda!"

"That's right, damn it, Sanford." She dismissed. "All you do is damn things..."

-His ma' hadn't meant that, but, she was so upset over how angry his dad was over it that she said things. And of course, Sanford senior said things too- it was the only thing that threatened to fracture the two of them.

They agreed on everything, EVERYTHING, except, how to handle their son's interaction with the world.

There was not another thing in that house that made them fight except Sanford himself- and so, sometimes atop the other thoughts, he wondered what each of his parents would say individually. Would his mother be horrified? Would she be shocked at the things her boy had done?

Would his father be shocked?

What would they think if they heard Sanford describe the times he ran into other people, other people with guns and blades and severed body parts hanging as trophies off their bodies- and what would they think when Sanford described how he individually killed every single one of them in drawn out, messy, scream-filled fights?

What would they think when he told him about all the times he was COATED, in blood that wasn't his? Like some hellish animal?

What would they think when he described for them all the terrible things he saw? The innocent people hurt and murdered, the places of rich history and power burned away like they were nothing?

What would they say?

-Sanford sat awake behind the brambles, hours later, and he had his eyes opened, directed for the stars above in a black, night sky. He asked the question again and again- he found something else to compare it with and the pattern would repeat.

He had his helmet still off, laying by his side- and he was in his Power Armor, sitting on the ground, occasionally switching his view to the Deathclaw- another subject that he could ask the question about -as she read the final few pages in her Greek Mythology book.

Silently, he watched her for a short while- her scaly hide highlighted slightly in tiny, near unnoticeable slivers of white hue from the worklights that were still on in portions of the center of the Super Mutant camp below.

The beasts were quiet- and she finished glancing out at them- but never at him- and lightly edged her opened book towards him with a quiet grunt.

"Page, please." She mumbled, not making eye contact.

Sanford blinked in a bored fashion- he looked about her scaly hand, and the coarse thinner hide about her palm and the undersides of her fingers- he examined the black, grimy texture of her claw nails as they remained relatively sheathed in her upper digits.

He noted some flecks of dried roach blood still clinging on her in portions- and he blinked up at her face, seeing her yellow eyes glowing a bulb of luminescent white in each center as she spied on the camp down by their flank.

-The Super Mutants hadn't left or had any scouting parties return the entire few hours they'd been here, hidden, not talking to each other- she tore her scrutinizing gaze and noted him staring at her.

 _What would they say?_ -Sanford was still juggling in his mind as he slowly took up the book in his gauntlets, and worked on flipping the next page.

"What is it, monsieur'?"

He jumped when she spoke to him lightly- a tired expression on her elongated, reptilian facial features as she turned to him.

Sanford flipped the page on the book- and he opened his mouth, inhaled to prepare something to say- faltered, and then carried through.

"Do you know I've killed so many people in my life, and I don't remember their faces?" He suddenly blurted out.

The Deathclaw didn't take the text from him immediately- she looked at him blankly.

"Well, it's what they say about people who kill a lot of other people, they remember the faces of at least a lot of their kills. They say it's hard to just forget, to, you know... Shoot some thugs and look at it as they were nothing for a long period of time..."

"...Where did this originate from, Sanford?" She asked after a second of silence. "I don't understand."

"When we were walking past that boxcar on the rails, the one I opened? I found a skeleton inside of it- nothing spectacular, or anything like that... But it reminded me of a man I cut up. A man that me and Han' had come across while trying to save people... And we found out he had done some pretty horrific things to a group of innocent victims."

"...What happened?"

"I dragged him inside and cut him up. I cut him up and for a long time I didn't think about, and I've never admitted it to anyone- even Hancock, even though he knew I did it."

"And you're... Just thinking of this, now?"

"That's the irony," Sanford chuckled. "You see? I've seen so much shit, that things like that get locked up and they don't come out for weeks, or months... E-Even years and... And I... And I get into a disagreement with you, and... And we're pouting, and, we both know better, but we don't WANT to know better..."

"...Mm..." She looked down, fiddling with the book instead of reading. "What does this have to do with remembering faces of people you've killed?"

"...Because there's so much worse that can happen. Those faces are the haunting reminder- and the reminder is, that I've seen so many that I can't remember any specifically... I mean, which is worse? Being haunted by individual ghosts of the past? Or just the silence of what you've destroyed and can never understand?"

"...It's the Wasteland, Sanford, you defend yourself when need be. I don't get what this is about, and I-"

"-I always ask myself- 'What would my parents think?'," Sanford kept going. "I always want to know what my parents would say about it- and they aren't here, so I can never know..."

Sanford leaned forwards, and he frowned at her.

"...You know so little of me in comparison to them, and to Hancock, and I likewise to you..."

"This is true."

"...What do you think about it?"

"...Understanding each other?"

"Yeah. With what we've gathered so far."

"...I... I told you, monsieur'," She put the book down and nudged her head at him. "We've both surmounted the impossible, and we've both been exposed to the same things. I respect it."

"But do you understand it?"

"What?"

"Our relationship."

"...As traveling companions?"

"How we're able to keep our pasts locked up, and interact with other, and get along?"

"...I do, and, I think I don't."

"You're caught in limbo?"

"...Yes."

"So then this disagreement wasn't worth the energy of getting upset over."

"...No."

"...We may not understand each other, entirely- but, let's not fight. We should never fight like this again, it's pointless."

"...It is pointless."

"...I trust my life around you."

"I trust you too, monsieur'."

"It's night."

"That it is," She mused. "Off to war?"

Sanford reached down, and he felt about for his submachine gun.

Picking that, and his helmet up- he looked at her, and smiled.

"They won't know what hit them."

"You think this, monsieur'?"

"I do. It's what my parents would say about us, at least I think."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	28. Chapter 28

**CHAPTER 28**

 **Fire, Bullets, and Green People.**

* * *

Most of the time when there was a situation that called for armed force- it was quick and chaotic, and it wasn't so drawn out for hours on end. Usually he and his friend would go against their foes of that day, and they would emerge alone with expended mags' and dead bodies choking the place of said duel.

Very rarely had Sanford and Hancock run across a fight where their enemies surrendered- it was just unheard of. It was unheard of because the great majority of people that he and Hancock were against were the loons of the Commonwealth, and surrendering just wasn't on the list of choices.

But, every now and again, they'd find the one random fight where their targets all stood up, threw their weapons down and started calling out for them to stop shooting.

"Why should we?!" Sanford called over a brick corner of the building he and Hancock had taken cover behind- the robot himself was hovering behind him, peaking an ocu-lense over his shoulder.

" _Please, man! I put my gun down! ...I'm coming out!_ " -The echoing, distant voice of another man rebounded from down the street they faced- and Sanford peered at the opposite side of the pavement that divided his alley from another alley.

There was a team of other people- the police forces for Diamond City in the heart of Boston city- they wore gear that was an assortment of ceramic-armored equipment taken from pre-War baseball stock in use for umpires and catchers- and they gripped rifles tensely.

The guy in front of the five/six man group looked at Sanford, and then peaked over the rim of the building corner he was pressed to- he saw a single Raider walking out from cover with his arms up, and he instinctively ducked backwards.

"No way, I don't trust this!" He called over, voice muffled by the old SWAT helm and visor over his face.

"Give it a chance," Sanford replied, looking back down the street they had advanced from- and littering the sidewalk and behind the rusty remains of cars were tens of corpses that had once been the friends of this man trying to surrender in the road ahead. "I'll go."

"It's your funeral." The Diamond officer grunted.

"Sir, with all due respect, perhaps we should, oh, maybe... FUCK THEM ALL UP AND FORGET LOGIC?!" Hancock screamed from behind him.

"I'm not going to shoot someone who's surrendering!" Sanford peered over the brickwork- and now standing in the middle of the street were three men in rags and mish-mashed leather armor, they were quivering hard enough that he could see it from the distance.

Sanford broke cover and started advancing down the empty, building-flanked road with a bolt-action rifle raised for the three Raiders.

"Don't move!" He called to them. "Move and I'll blow your fucking brains out!"

As if to make the point, one of the Raiders yelled at the other two, something incoherent- and the three raised their hands higher above their heads.

"God damn it, sir!" Hancock called from his rear. "You're absolutely insane! I always knew you monkeys were never as smart as the frikkin' National Geographic Channel pawned you off as!"

"Oh shut up, Han'." Sanford rolled his eyes as the dirtied Raiders became close enough for detail. "-I warned you freaks, you move, you die."

"I'm not moving! Don't shoot!" One of them sputtered.

They were all pretty young- the oldest two were probably in their twenties, and, what disturbed Sanford even more was that the youngest of them, the one shaking the most, was a damn kid. He couldn't have been older than eighteen, nineteen?

"On your knees, do as I say and the Diamond cops might throw you in a cell instead of a pit."

"-Bless you, man! Bless you!"

"Shut the fuck up and kneel."

"Take THAT, hooligans!" Hancock zipped right past him in a whoosh of his central thruster- and he jabbed the blackened, small barrel of his Plasma gun in one of the Raiders' faces- the guy edged his head back in panic, and Sanford saw a trail of moisture cascading down from the man's calf just above the boot.

"Give it a rest, Han', c'mon."

"We kicked your wrinkly, feces-encrusted asses back to the stone age! HA! Slut-holes!"

"Beautiful."

The Diamond guys took some persuading, but, they did indeed throw the Raiders in the prison complex in the city's lower levels- and to this day all three of them were still there, apparently, and Sanford had even heard that one had been released and he now was a guard for Diamond's main square.

It was... Interesting, when there was another solution to dealing with other people who were hostile, than just killing them and being done with it.

The Raiders after that firefight were a perfect example- they didn't need to die for the fight to be resolved.

Neat thought to consider- diplomacy, in this kind of a world? Almost unheard of.

Sanford longed for more engagements like that- where people just put the damned guns down and just talked.

It was too bad, that Super Mutants didn't work like that.

Sometimes in the apocalyptic landscape of the world, there was literally no other possible choice to be made than to fight and defend yourself. The Super Mutants, were a big cause of that endless violence.

They were gridded throughout Boston and the East Coast in general from what Sanford had heard- and they were even in the West, but the rumors of 'Friendly'- examples of their kind in San Francisco and Nevada just seemed... Not really believable.

Sanford was always under the safe impression that the Mutants in Boston were all collectively messed up- it couldn't have been that far from the truth, as, every single Super Mutant that he and Hancock had ever come up against had been shot to death by either or both members.

The Mutants were bad news- they killed people, they pillaged settlements, they freaking ATE people... Sanford was content to shoot them like dogs and move on.

So that was where the forced violence came in.

The Mutants weren't going to just SURRENDER, that was ludicrous to assume they would. So, Sanford would shoot them- and he would shoot ALL of them.

The dark did actually make it harder for the Mutants to see him- as such he went unnoticed when he gave the Deathclaw a thumbs up, and stood from behind the bramble.

"I'm gonna' go in right through the front of the camp," He nodded, unpinning the safety on his SMG. "You want to flank?"

"I can do that." She blinked. "I'll go right."

"Don't start slashing guys until they focus fire on my position, got it?" He said. "You're tough, but if one of them has a heavy weapon, you won't be a French Deathclaw, you'll be Swiss-cheese."

"FUNNY." She snorted. "...I don't like this."

"You didn't like it before, and now that we've improvised, you STILL don't like it... You're hopeless." He chuckled.

"Mm."

"I'm going, wish me luck."

"Luck."

"You too, Ms. Angry."

"..."

"Right, Mutants, shooting, fire, yeah..."

Sanford rounded the bramble with as light of footsteps as he could manage with the suit.

The small whirring noises and shifts would be a problem if he tried to move around too much- and while, he could certainly still fight if the Mutants shot first, he would've preferred to try and take them by surprise.

So he hunkered down, and slowly footworked down the hill that lead to the fringes of the camp's exterior.

The remains of a wire-link fence were barely seeable in a rounded barricade on this side of the camp- it extended down from one end of the rounded property to the other, and all that was left were the cylindrical bases of the fence's main pegs, nothing else.

He hummed at it, hummed at the metal work buildings in the backdrop- he looked around cautiously, and he saw a cone of illumination spark from somewhere behind a few steel girders sticking from the ground up ahead- it made his heart drop.

A Super Mutant holding an industrial grade lantern- it was BRIGHT, like, if you shined it in someone's face it would temporarily blind them- with a rifle in the other hand trudged out from the camp's depths and looked around glumly.

Sanford squinted and hurried over to a raise in the land- there were some rocks piled around the exterior of the camp- and some of them were pretty bulky- so he found a small cluster of them and crouched as best he could.

As if to make the point- the beam of the lantern actually swung right over his position as the Mutant scanned about- Sanford hissed in nervousness until the cone settled next to the rocks he hid behind.

He peaked over the stones- and the Mutant was facing more a leftwards angle to him than directly at him- he stood there with the lantern raised, weapon draped lazily- shoulders hunched and head bowed- Sanford gawked and saw that one of the Mutant's boots was raised and flipped in an upwards angle.

The boy was checking to see if he had stepped on something or some shit.

...What an asshole, this was too easy.

Sanford mentally cheered- he slowly worked around the boulders- the armor creaking and making tiny shifts as he slunk through the shadows of the relatively open terrain.

It was the pounding in his chest that made the most noise and paranoia for him- all the Mutant had to do was stop being preoccupied, and look up for the attempt to be a bust.

But luck held out- right as the Mutant put his foot down with a nonsensical grumble- and started to raise his lantern light, he vanished in a flurry of shadowy motion that resulted in a dampened **_BMM_** -to echo from a falling impact.

The Super Mutant was pinned, and while they were strong, they certainly weren't strong enough to lift a full-grown Power Armored man from a sprawl atop them.

Sanford literally draped his entire body over the Mutant's- relying on his suit's weight to keep him still. The lantern and rifle clattered away on either side of the weak tussle.

Sanford had a gauntlet practically shoved into the Mutant's mouth- and the freak was making muffled grunts and barks- Sanford winced at the set of fat, yellow teeth that clattered and chewed on the wrist of his suit's gauntlet.

Sneering in disgust- he tore free his other arm, and grabbed the Mutant's cranium with clenching, armored fingers. Sanford huffed when the Mutant tried to kick him weakly with tiny bouts of steel thudding- he twisted his gauntlets opposite of each other, and the Mutant's eyes bugged before there was a **_CKL_** -and he grew silent.

Sanford breathed out in relief- he stayed still atop the corpse- let his scanners run about the area again- and when thirty-five heartbeats came up, all of them still distant- he sighed and started to collect himself off the dead creature.

Standing to full height- Sanford shook his head down at the green, bulging limbs of the dead Mutant- and picked up his SMG off the ground.

"'EY'!"

-Oh no.

"-What-?!" Sanford hissed, spiraling around.

In the dark, lacking details, and appearing like shadows- there were five of the Mutants standing only a few feet away from him- and they all had weapons raised.

Sanford couldn't see their faces in the dark, but he could hear them breathing- deeply, and raggedly- they all had heightened breath for seeing him, and Sanford realized that they actually had not noticed their dead friend just behind him.

Sanford thought for all but two seconds- and suddenly, he remembered something he had said a few days ago.

 _This Wasteland is fucking insane..._

...He was right, this Wasteland, WAS insane.

He'd met a French speaking Deathclaw- he had a robot that was obsessed with the destruction of Communism, and he had been through all kinds of whacked fights for his life.

And Sanford had survived all of it.

It didn't make sense.

It was crazy.

...So... Maybe, just MAYBE, it wasn't such a crazy idea, too... Oh, try something completely ludicrous in its possibility of actually working?

Hell, what other option was there? He had nothing to lose.

"'Ey!" Sanford tried to talk as throaty as possible- and he opened his arms and raised them at the five Mutants. "Wher' lantern guy, go?!"

The five Mutants, even in the dark- looked extremely confused.

Sanford mentally gave himself credit- he didn't sound that far off from what he mimicked.

One of the Super Mutants angled his head.

"Slag'? Iz dat' u?"

"...uhm... Y-Yeah! YEAH! It Slag! Wher' yu guys bin'? Can' fine'd lanturn!"

"Me thought Crusha have it?" Another Mutant mumbled.

Sanford winced- and glanced quickly at the rear of his boots.

That must have been Crusha. Oops.

"Wel'... I dunno' ware Crusha wen'!"

"Maybee' bawss noe'..." The same to first address him growled. "C'mon Slag, yu' can tell us' how u' survive gettin' eatan by bear."

Sanford's jaw dropped.

...So, THAT was where the real Slag was?

This would be interesting.

"Me fine' new armorz!" Sanford shouted- smacking a fist on his Power Armor's shell. "See?"

"Ooo!" One of the Mutants rushed over- and Sanford felt his blood chill when he shifted in stance from the freak poking his breastplate with a fat finger. "New armer!"

"Wher' fine DAT', Slag?"

"...Uhm... Humie' place, kill lots of humies, boom-boom, behind door... ARMER."

"Ooooo."

"Wher' chief?"

"Dis' way, Slag. He gonna' wuv to see yu not ded."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Sanford was in shock.

It worked.

The green morons, thought he was another green moron, under all the suit.

It worked.

It actually worked, but Sanford still felt as if a heart attack was imminent, despite the reassurance of success.

Frightening as it was, the astronomical stupidity of the Super Mutants- it was also frightening walking through their ranks under such a guise, even if they suspected nothing.

Sanford's blood was frozen with how many chills and falling feelings he got in his gut- the five Mutants that he had initially encountered led him through a group of at least FIFTEEN, and the whole lot of them had been gathered around a makeshift fire pile.

Two of them parted on either side for the five Mutants in front of him to stalk through, and all the laughing and bantering stopped dead for a period of silence when all their yellow eyes fell on the Power Armored man slinking up behind them.

The Mutants looked extra confused- torn between just going with it, as none of their fellows were saying anything- and grabbing up their weapons and running at the armored- 'Metuul Mahn'.

Sanford smiled sheepishly behind his helm- nodding at a larger Mutant standing close as he passed- the guy was easily seven feet tall, and he was garbed with half a car's engine block strapped over his barrel chest and bulging gut.

There were human skulls hung by his belt, and Sanford gagged a bit when he saw that the brute was holding a red, mauled, and blood-stringing limb of chewed meat.

-The reason why Sanford almost threw up in his helmet, was because the ruined limb had been someone's forearm- a HUMAN, it was pretty disgusting.

"Oh... God..." He muttered- feeling somewhat guilty for walking by the desecrated remains being eaten by the big guy- and then he felt relief when a few of the Mutants just shrugged and resumed what they were doing- yelling, laughing, throwing around pieces of the obvious hapless victim that couldn't even be identified as whole anymore.

Sanford felt his anger flaring as he stepped by the pile of tires and driftwood the Mutants had piled for a bonfire in the center of this little gathering- there was a HUGE puddle of blood that gathered in the dirt, and in the pool was what was left of a human skull, and a few gnawed bones.

These guys were sick.

"Chief' stay in bigga' bulden'," One of the five Mutants ahead of him muttered over his green, muscular shoulder. "Not hang' wit' us anymo'..."

"Why dat'?" Sanford grumbled back.

-It was so alien talking to the Mutants- TALKING, with them, not shooting them.

It was even more alien than talking to the Deathclaw- and that, THAT, was saying a lot.

The Mutants, up close- were just as scary as they were from a distance, or close up while being dead. They had large underbites, sharp and little yellow teeth, or sometimes teeth that looked like two rows of only molars.

They were all bald- and they each sported various healed and scarred over lacerations on their bare arms and legs, and across their faces- there was more than one Mutant that he passed that had nothing but a black trench for one eye, or was missing a nose and all that was left was a flat, triangular pink plane with two tears in it.

Some of them had medical bionics replacing ears, eyes- there was a Mutant that stomped past heading towards the bonfire- that Sanford gawked at for all three seconds it took to pass him- because half of the boy's skull was gone, and his head had a healed over incline that looked like someone severed a chunk of his scalp off and re-grew skin over it.

Swallowing- he glanced over his pauldron as he walked deeper into the camp, and he saw another Mutant run up to mister half-skull, and cuff him in the gut with a resounding **_WHMP_** -and then he yelled about some sort of incoherent theft.

The half-skull, the bigger Mutant- grunted, and the slightly shorter offender was on the ground in an instant with blood trailing from his nose.

As the bigger Mutant stalked away, Sanford was shocked to hear the smaller one on the ground LAUGHING at having his face slammed.

"He comin' owt, Slag," Sanford jumped when a fat, green hand slapped onto his armored shoulder plate- he looked over and saw one of the first five Mutants he had run into grinning at him with a set of gums- as all his teeth were gone. "He gonna' be happy tah see yu'."

"I sur' hope so..." Sanford responded- thanking God for the air rebreathers in his helm's grill- he could only imagine how HORRIFIC, this guy's breath must've been.

The Mutant stepped away, and Sanford saw, that, in his daydreaming- he had not noticed that they had reached their destination.

The larger metal work building was before him- and before that, between him and it- was a cracked, and ruined, rectangular portal that fell into the earth- and the scorches that marked the ground around the opening only further confirmed that THAT, was the drop they had been held prisoner in.

Sanford was amazed the whole ground hadn't caved in. Huh.

He glanced up and could barely see through the night- even with his vision filters- the outline of the black cloud rising into the dark air above from the stairwell exit he and the Deathclaw had escaped from a few feet further away from the camp.

"Wha' thiss I 'ear bout' Slag bein' bakk..."

Sanford bit his lip as the giant Super Mutant that had almost done them in- the same one, that had the big grenade launcher for an arm-stomped out from a door archway from the biggest construction building ahead.

The ground shook when one of his boots hit the concrete- Sanford went pale, and, suddenly- he looked down at himself, and... He remembered something.

...Hadn't this chieftain... SEEN, this suit of armor?

The others kind of did before he escaped, but, they were the average Super Mutant- they probably couldn't count to three least of all remember and identify a past escapee from their prison cells.

-But Super Mutant leaders, the ones that were smart, somewhat- they got places by manipulating their fellows and rising to power.

...Old chieftain here was going to take one look at him, and-

"-EY'!"

...Yeah, this, uh... This facade? Yeah, it was over. Like, capital, OVER.

Shit.

"Oh fuck." Sanford grumbled.

Standing there, in the middle of the concrete court- Sanford saw the gigantic chieftain and all his horrid glory- the big grenade launcher for an arm, with all the ties of skulls wrapped around it clattering about-the mechanics that connected it to his balled, wire-riddled shoulder whining and hissing.

Sanford saw the hideous mug of the chieftain's face scrunch up, and a row of fangs jutted from behind his lower, cracked, green lip- the knuckles in his free hand cracked as it formed into a bulbous, green fist.

"You..." The chieftain growled. "YOU..."

Looking about- the Mutant leader narrowed his eyes at the five Super Mutants that stood on either side of him- he huffed, and he started breathing heavy.

Sanford reclined his head as the Mutant leader raggedly exhaled over and over- he reared back his head, and he SCREAMED, into the night of the camp's surroundings.

"YYYOOOOUUUUU IDDDIIIIOOOOOTTTTSSSS!"

 ** _WHMMMM_**

-The grenade launcher whined, it shifted and clacked and a grenade was loaded into the chamber- the giant arm/weapon creaked and shuffled as it rose, and soon, Sanford was staring right into the blackened barrel.

"...How are ya'?" He asked with a tiny chuckle.

"THIS AIN'T SLAG!" The chief bellowed. "It' Metuul Mahn! METUUL MAHN! Idiots! SIMPLE-TOMS!"

"I believe it's pronounced SIMPLETON." Sanford held a gauntlet up- completely ignoring the fact that the Mutant's voice was still rebounding across the hills.

The chieftain gawked with an ajar mouth- and one of the smaller of his henchmen out of the five nearest bystanders, raised a finger.

"I fink' he actally' right, bawss."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

-That didn't sound good.

Since when was it a normal occurrence for Super Mutants to scream out about metal men? Sanford must have been discovered- which meant, she needed to move.

Up until now, she had been as low as possible in the brush-filled shadows of the camp's rightwards flank- she went unnoticed, because, obviously, in addition to her just being good at it, she had been genetically designed to be perfect at it.

But when a bellowing roar from one of the Mutants- and by the volume of it, a really BIG Mutant- echoed out into the night, her yellow eyes went wide, and she started cursing under her breath.

"Merde... MERDE..." She was but a liquidated bulge of darkness that slithered quickly through the grounds- and by the time a Mutant just turning his head to look in the camp epicenter's direction got the hint that something was up- he turned around and died without a noise.

 ** _SLLK_**

-The Mutant flew on either side of her in two halves- legs and hips to the left, head, shoulders and torso to the right.

"-I'll KILL him this time! I MEAN it." She snarled.

Through the darkness she persisted- and then, as she rounded a steel girder- she peered around the jutting metal's girth- and blinked as light invaded her vision.

There was a fire, a bonfire of tires and wood- and around it were tens of Mutants- and thankfully -(for her)- they were all turned towards the work buildings in the property's center.

She leaned on her clawed toes, and tried to peer over a few heads to see what the problem was- and if Sanford was really in trouble.

Just like she feared- she went wide eyed, and there he was- her human, standing before the eight-foot tall monster that was the Mutant's chief, and he was surrounded by a small cluster of his fellows.

How had that even HAPPENED?!

"No-NO!" She found herself barking. "SANFORD!"

-In the courtyard, the chieftain narrowed his eyes, and he glanced upwards from where the SECOND shout had come from.

Sanford gasped, and wheeled around to follow the larger Mutant's gaze.

-Standing just in the shadows of the Mutant swarmed bonfire- he saw the outline of his reptilian friend, highlighted amber, standing as tall as she could to stare at him in horror.

...Now, it would've just been, so much more perfect, if she had kept it quiet and just started, you know... Killing some of them.

But now, there were thirty some-odd Mutants looking between their chief and his unexpected guest, and the giant reptilian monster that had randomly come out of the dark and screamed some weird-ass human name.

This was... a distressing night for the Mutants.

They had their heads raised, and they were blinking stupidly- glancing left and right, some of them, mid-bite of their human meal.

"...Wha' we doo, bawss?!" Came distantly from somewhere near the bonfire.

The chieftain snapped his jaws shut, looked down at Sanford, and blinked.

"Yu... Have Deffyclaw back too?"

"Yeah, she's a piece of work." Sanford shrugged with a creak of steel.

"-I HEARD THAT!" She screamed over. "FUCK THIS!"

Surging forwards all at once, the Deathclaw made a terrible noise that was a combination of a massive hiss, and a predatory roar- a Super Mutant screamed, and Sanford nodded at the chieftain.

"You heard the lady, time to die."

The two SMG's on either side of his suit were whipped out, one in each gauntlet- Sanford drained both guns into two of the closest Mutants.

 ** _CCLCKLCKLCKLCKLCKLCLKC-_**

-Bullets ate into twin heads and chests with misting blood and flecks of darker crimson. The two Mutants jerked about and tumbled onto the ground with thudding falls.

The chieftain reached up and dragged his fingers down his face to wipe off a strip of blood that had landed over his chin- and watched in horror as Sanford thundered off to their flank, back into the darkness- and the Deathclaw was slinking in retreat, tossing away the corpse of another Mutant.

"WHA' YOU ALL DOIN'?!" The chieftain screamed. "KILL DEM!""

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Sanford was trying to replace both magazines in both SMG's as he ran, and thus, it took him longer as he kept his shoulderline down and sprinted as fast as the armor allowed him into the dark of the night.

"SHIT-SHIT-SHIT-SHIT-SHIT!" He repeated, completing the reloading, he stuck the pin of each bolt into the groove of his lower breastplate and dragged the guns upwards to force it down.

Gunfire erupted behind him- and he slid to a halt, finding another cluster of large rocks, he knelt behind them, and soon bullets were licking past and into the stone with kicks of dust and screeching reports.

He glanced up and saw a handful of the green freaks running in his direction- around the shadow of the larger work building- they had rifles, and one of them was rapid-fire.

"-DAMN!" He ducked when a few rounds slapped about the stone ahead of his helmet.

He huffed, clamped one of his SMG's too his hip, and wielded the one two-handed.

Rising from cover- Sanford drained the clip at them, and from the distance, he heard grunts and barks of pain- he even saw the shiny flecks of blood being catapulted from fresh wounds on one of the Mutants- but none of them went down.

"DAMN!"

Sanford sprinted from his newfound position with thundering footfalls- bullets flew by, and he tossed away his empty mag'.

Sanford did his best to weave between raises in the land, piles of rocks or by taller tree stumps- and as a result, the already poor accuracy of the Mutants didn't allow many of the rounds to even come close to him.

He felt a punching on his back, and a rifle round bounced off the X-01's spine section, and another few clattered by one of his ankles.

He fell to a crouch behind another rock- stuffing another clip into his submachine gun's receiver.

This was NOT how he had planned this- but, they were in the fight now, and there was no possibility of just backing out.

"God damn it..." He kept cursing, pulling back the gun's bolt. "God FUCKIN' damn it..."

"RRAAGGH!"

"-SHIT!"

 ** _CLKMS_**

-Sanford ducked right as the largest club he had ever seen sailed in an arc from around the boulder's side, and catapulted for his head.

The metal club whacked into the rock with a horrible clinking report, and Sanford wheeled around with the gun at the ready- and he aimed down the sights at a shocked Mutant that couldn't quite understand how it had missed.

Still holding onto the metal debris two-handed- the Mutant started to reorient himself before his head opened in three blackened, red crevices that blew away a chunk of his skull and caved an eye.

Sanford released the trigger after only a quick burst- he watched the body tumble back, and he watched ANOTHER Mutant literally hop over his dead comrade, with a huge, industrial grade sledgehammer clenched in his grimy, green fists.

"DIE METUUL-MAN-!"

 ** _CLKCLKCLKCLCLCK_**

-The Mutant fell back with half his head stringing wetly behind himself into the night- the sledgehammer thudded still on the ground over his green ankles.

Sanford popped out the clip of his gun, squinted, and saw half the rounds left before shoving it back in.

He hoped more of the Mutants had THOSE kinds of weapons... That just made it easy.

But as Sanford stepped out from around the rock- he looked upwards, and, as he would recall later- almost wet himself.

"RRAAAAAGH-HA-HA!" A Super Mutant cackled- he raised his left arm, and supported a vertically raised handle grip that had been welded into the top of a weapon, that rotated, and whined as ammunition was fed from a belt drawing from a square tank strapped over the Mutant's shoulders.

It was a mini-gun.

"-DOH!" Sanford tripped over himself as he backpeddled behind the rock- wincing when the mini-gun pissed a stream of bullets that flew everywhere and clattered off the flank of the stone in tens.

It sounded like hail was falling- that was how many rounds he had dodged.

Sanford aimed the gun round the boulder's flank- not even bothering to stick his helmet out with his arms, and let the rest of the clip go with a random sweep in the foe's general direction.

He must have hit something, because the mini-gun didn't fire again- he popped out the clip and dug in his rucksack for another.

"Stupid mahn!"

-Sanford whirred his helmet over- and saw another Mutant run around the other side of the rock he hid behind, and aim an assault rifle at him.

Sanford stopped thinking- he dropped his SMG and surged forwards- gauntlet catching the barrel of the rifle and shoving it to the side.

The gun discharged repeatedly- and Sanford slid his finger down to grab the Mutant's wrist- wrenching it towards the sky until the rifle ran dry. Sanford grabbed the Mutant's other wrist and jerked that downwards.

"RRAGH!-RAGH!- RRAGAGGHH!" The Mutant screamed and shrieked, and Sanford grunted as the two of them struggled in opposite goals of the arm lock- Sanford trying to keep his grip, and the Mutant trying to break it.

 ** _wwwhhhhhHHHHHHHMMMMMM_**

"-RRAGH!" Sanford cried out, swung his arms, and felt his armor whining to compensate for the Mutant's weight.

Sanford lifted the Mutant an inch off the ground, swung him around, and ducked his helm close to the green monster's chest right as the Mutant with the mini-gun rounded the boulder, aimed at the scuffle, and let hell fly.

Bullets carpeted Sanford's foe's back- the Mutant's struggles stopped and the rifle fell from his grip as the mini-gun chewed away his back and head.

Sanford hoisted the body up, and wrapped his armored arms around the dead Mutant's stinking torso- he rushed forwards with the mini-gun still reducing the dead freak's body into mincemeat. Using the literal meat-shield to sprint up to the mini-gun wielder- Sanford hurled the body forwards when he was close enough.

The Mutant cursed and barked as his dead comrade tossed and tumbled over his front- the mini-gun's handle fell from his grip, and the Mutant staggered back, bending down to grab it back up.

Sanford reared back, and kicked the Super Mutant in the face.

 ** _CLACK_**

-The Mutant went silent and blood curled in the air in a red limb from his mouth- Sanford saw teeth dislodged, and the Mutant clambered onto his back, the mini-gun folding under and beside him with rumbling reports of metal.

To make his point- Sanford picked up his submachine gun from the ground, reloaded it, and drained four rounds into the fallen Mutant's head.

 ** _CLKCLKCLK_**

-He slouched over wetly with a quad of red spattered holes in his temple.

"...Bastard." Sanford spat. He glanced about, and went to peak over the boulder again.

"HUMIE'!

-The Mutant rushed forwards with another sledgehammer- and Sanford had just raised his gun to start firing, when the Mutant's head was cleanly, and quickly, removed from his shoulders.

 ** _SLK_**

-Five dark trails sang through the night, and the Mutant clambered onto his knees, dropping the hammer, with a weakly clenching set of fingers rising and falling for his crimson spewing neck.

Blood made a horrible geyser of globular repeating into the air, before the Deathclaw finalized the deadly transaction, and kicked the Mutant's back to heap the corpse to the ground.

Sanford looked down and winced, stepping back as blood pooled close to the toes of his boots.

Looking up, he saw the Deathclaw heaving with effort, standing silently in the dark, claws unsheathed and dripping on either side of her.

"...How... uhm... How are ya'?" Sanford chuckled.

She snorted at him.

"That was SO subtle, monsieur', we REALLY surprised them,"

"Well, we, uh... We did!"

"NOT IN THE WAY THAT WAS BEST, YOU INGRATE!" She snapped. "I hope... You're HAPPY."

"I'll be more happy when they're all dead."

"Mm..."

"Help me out. You can kill me afterwards."

"I plan on it this time."

"So you've been saying."

"I MEAN IT."

" _I mean it, Sanford! I mean it! Blah!_ "- He mocked. Sanford smiled as she ground her fangs, he noticed movement behind her. "-Oh, uhm, left flank."

"I don't understand you, monsieur'," "RRRAAGAGHH-ACK!" -She jolted in her still stance a tad when she stuck her claw out behind her and caught the charging Mutant in the chest- he dropped a wooden 2x4 hammered through with rusty nails onto the ground. "-We try something tactical, something logique', and you mess it up."

She jerked her wrist backwards and the corpse slid off onto the dusty ground with a series of thuds.

"Well I couldn't help it if I had to improvise!" He put a fist on his hip.

"Right shoulder." She sighed.

"RRAGAGHH-!" - ** _CLKCLKCLKCLK_** , Sanford stuck the submachine gun in an aim under his right arm, fired half the mag', and kept frowning at her despite hearing the body tumble across the dirt, dropping some metallic melee weapon.

"-They saw me! I talked like one of them, it worked, and, hey, look how many we've killed so far!"

"No excuse, monsieur', it was blatantly, and unnecessarily risky!"

"Watch your left, screaming meemie', two-o-clock."

The Deathclaw raised her head, rolled her eyes, and sighed with a hop of her shoulders- she turned around and slashed downwards with one of her claws- and a Super Mutant materialized in greater detail from the dark, falling onto his back with his chest and clavicle torn open in three flaps.

Growling at the corpse, she reclined her head when blood started to form rivers out of the wounds.

"These beasts are sickening..."

"Good! More incentive for you to help me clean the gene-pool so we can leave already."

"...Yes, monsieur'."

"We have this, don't worry."

"I always worry, monsieur'."

"Well cut it out, we only have, like..." Sanford checked his scans with a quick few blinks in his helm. "-Twenty bastards left. No problem."

-0-0-0-0-0-


	29. Chapter 29

**CHAPTER 29**

 **It's All Coming Together.**

* * *

The Mutants were tough, they were stronger physically, and they outnumbered the two of them fifteen to one- but the frankly evening-out part of that power struggle, revolved heavily around a mere three things.

One, the Mutants couldn't aim for jack'- when Sanford used his usual cover-tactics, he was untouchable- and the Deathclaw was just too fast for the Mutants to even target her effectively.

Two, the Mutants were disorganized to begin with, in fact- there wasn't one here who even understood the simple concept of a little thing called- 'Teamwork' -which, you know, is essential if you're working in a squad-based infantry combat setting.

Three- the Mutants were just God-damned stupid. They were so stupid, that Sanford, the veteran, the guy who had been navigating the Wasteland since young adulthood- was practically able to run circles around them.

Sanford had been hardening himself with every kind of tactic he had ever encountered from other people, or other sentient lifeforms like the Mutants, for what few there were. That meant that Sanford could outperform multiple times his own number, and that also meant that the disorganization of the Mutants heightened his ability to beat them.

Sanford just used the basics- he fired and maintained a low profile, he reloaded, and he relocated- the more and more angles he found to shoot the Mutants from, the more he wounded or eventually killed.

He was running low on submachine gun rounds- and pretty soon he would have to start just picking up any guns that the dead were dropping to defend himself- as, he had done that before in some pretty bad past engagements.

He only had a handful of magazines left, and as he drained another one from leaning over the hood of a smashed, and rusting sedan's hulk- he heard the SMG clack its bolt forwards, and he saw the last shell casing kick away off the metal of the car under his arms.

"Damn." He snapped- the armor creaking as he ducked behind the automobile, and winced when a cluster of rounds clapped about the other side of the vehicle.

He felt around his rucksack, and felt himself go pale at seeing the dwindled number of black, rectangular lifelines still available in its interior- he folded the flap back, and shut his eyes angrily at a mere two clips left.

"SHIT."

He grabbed one and stuffed it in the gun's receiver, yanked back the bolt.

He clamped the gun to his hip plating, picked up the other SMG on the other side, and aimed again over the hood of the car he hid behind.

 ** _CLCKLCKLCKLCKLCKCLKCL_**

-He drained the whole clip into a Mutant that was rushing forwards with a single arm raised in the air- the green freak broke cover, sprinted, and died with a cluster of rounds opening up his clavicle and throat.

The Mutant made a wet cry and collapsed face-first, motionless, on the ground with his bulbous legs flinging up behind him, and then settling with twin kicks against the dusty ground.

Sanford used the rest of the gun's magazine to spray the group of rocks ahead that he knew the Mutant's buddies were taking cover in- and right as he was ducking back, he noticed an abnormality that was laying on the hood of the car next to his forearm.

Shifting his gauntlet to the side, Sanford peered over the car's top at the object, dropped his jaw, and cursed loudly.

"-OH SHIT!"

-The rounded, black, and studded item, was a grenade, and the pin was obviously gone, and now he knew thoroughly what that Mutant had tossed before he died.

Sanford fell on his backside behind the car.

 ** _WHHMM_**

-The grenade went off, metal shrieked, shrapnel flew over his head in all directions as contrasting wedges of glowing light against the dark air- dust vomited in a great plume, and the whole rusty car shifted with its hood now fissured with a blackened gash down its midsection.

Sanford had his gauntlet over his helmet's dome- and he waited for the resounding hiss of the grenade's detonation to fade, before he finished switching his last good magazine with the dead one in his second SMG.

If he hadn't been in the X-01 suit, that blast probably would've temporarily deafened him- he thanked the maker for the helmet's internal fluctuation systems.

"- _Wha' tha'?!_ "

" _OOH KRAWP'!_ "

The Mutants that had him pinned were shouting in the night ahead- Sanford raised a brow, and then he flinched when he heard a terrible squelching sound that was loud enough to reach his position a few feet away.

A Mutant screamed, and there was a wet tearing.

"Je vais tuer chacun d'entre vous! VOUS MERDE' BOUGRES MANGER!"

-There were a few gunshots, another tearing noise, and a Mutant made a weak gurgle.

Sanford stood bolt upright from behind the car- he watched, impressed, as the Deathclaw stalked out from behind the rocks up ahead, covered in blood, with drips falling from her nailed claws, she stomped towards him and bent to spit at the ground.

"...Covered in freak blood and stuck with a stupid human, pfft..." She was mumbling.

"Hey, well you just saved this stupid human's life! Kinda'." Sanford waved at her and started to step around the car. "Good news, my scanners are clear."

"We've been fighting all night, monsieur'- I'd certainly expect them to be clear by this point."

"It's only been a few minutes!"

"Mm."

"...Say, where'd the chief-guy go?"

"HUMIE'!"

"-Oh, hey! We found him!" Sanford laughed sarcastically. "You might want to move, dear."

The Deathclaw hissed, and she was gone by his flank, back into the night, with a rush of motion.

Standing in the open, between the rock formations ahead, was the big guy- the Super Mutant chieftain with his bionic grenade-launcher leveled with Sanford's position, the Mutant grinned with yellow teeth and a half-lidded eye.

"Tiem' tu DIE, oomie'!" He growled.

Sanford looked down at his SMG he was holding, and, again, became astonished at how 'Pee-shooter'-ish' the gun looked against these larger things he was coming up against.

The chieftain was only a few feet away, and from this distance, Sanford was not likely to slip by the explosive rounds that the big bionic-arm of his fired. That was probably the same weapon that had glanced the Deathclaw when they had first escaped.

"That might be a little hard for you, green man," Sanford held an arm out into the night, sweeping it slowly with a creak of steel. "We killed all your little friends!"

"Me not NEED uvver' Muties'."

"You really are an anti-social, ugly, piece of shit- you do realize this, right?"

"DIE!"

 ** _-FWM_**

The Deathclaw had described to him at one point, what precisely had hit her- and the description fit a meteorite descending from above pretty fittingly. Naturally, Sanford had a hard time believing that someone else besides the Minutemen had mastered mortar technology.

However, when the big, bionic grenade-launcher that made the chieftain's arm barked with a flash of light, a belch of disgorged soot- and he saw the trailing comet flying through the air towards him with a path of sparks left behind- he now thoroughly understood what his reptilian friend had been up about.

Sanford flinched when the grenade sailed out- he cursed loudly, and he threw himself to the side- again -and the explosive landed merely a few inches before where he had been standing.

Hurling through the air, off his feet- Sanford heard a resounding clap, like thunder- light illuminated all around him, and a ball of curling flame caressed upwards into the night from a blackened crater of billowing dust and shrapnel.

 ** _BMM_**

-Debris tore past Sanford's flank as he hit the earth from his leap, it licked in glancing ricochets from his armor's cuirass and left arm and pauldron.

Scrambling to his feet, the suit whirring and whining- Sanford was on his boot heels, raising the SMG- he drained the entire clip at the Mutant chief as he stood watching the results of his attack- surprised, that the human was still alive.

 ** _CLCKLCKLCKLCKCLKLCLLK_**

-Understand, it was rather shocking for the Mutants, especially their leader- EVERYTHING, that he shot normally burst into red, gooey chunks, or it toppled over and coughed up sparks and smoke everywhere before blooming into a pretty explosion.

No such thing was happening with this 'Metuul Mahn'- in fact, everything that the Mutants were used to INFLICTING, had been inflicted upon THEM. Pretty much all of his fellows were dead- either hacked to pieces or shot full of holes.

And this stupid, stupid human was the one responsible for it.

"I'LL KILL YU'!" The chieftain remained unaffected by the bullets that ate into his armored form- some actually finding marks on his bare left arm, and one even clipping by his neck.

The chieftain raised his launcher, and drew a bunched fist down a bolt handle atop the arm's fore length.

 ** _CHSK-CHK_**

-He shoved up and down, and another explosive was chambered.

 ** _wwwwHHHHHMMM-_**

 ** _FMM_**

-Sanford tried to turn and run, but the grenade landed in front of him before he could start to sprint.

 ** _BMM_**

-A clap of thunder, a mighty gravitational force threatened to topple him over, and shrapnel licked off the X-01's hide all over the place in lit up, orange slashes in the night air.

The cool thing was, at least some of the flaking roach gunk that was still on his armor after all this time, was burnt away from the touch of the adjacent explosion- the suit kept him grounded however, so he wasn't tossed off his feet.

"-GAH!" Sanford stumbled back wildly- black smoke ghosting his form in the representation of black tendrils that whispered off his suit in all corners.

There was a confirming- **_BLEEP_** -in his helmet, and he glanced at a green block of text in the lower corner of his HUD saying that no damage had been experienced.

Sanford didn't take another chance being out in the open- he turned around and loosed off in a thudding sprint until he was behind another cluster of rocks- and right on cue, as he went to clamp his dry SMG to his hip- another burst of fire and shrapnel ate into the other side of the formation.

 ** _BMM_**

-"COME OUT, HUMIE'!"

Flinching, Sanford growled and looked down at his gauntlet- only to widen his eyes in shock.

...Where did his gun go?

He blinked, and held up his gauntlet, and slumped his shoulders at what he saw.

At least, you know, the handle and the back portion of the gun's frame was still in his grip, giving off a tiny tentacle of smoke from its ragged, burnt division where the REST of the gun was supposed to be.

That explosion scorched his already messed up armor, and broke one of his guns.

"This guy is REALLY pissing me off." Sanford grumbled.

The submachine guns obviously weren't cutting it- not quickly enough. He glanced around ahead and at his sides- looking for one of the many corpses littering the camp.

There was a dead Mutant who was still clenching a nail-driven 2x4 by his side, so, that wouldn't do- yet a foot away, there was another corpse, and this green guy had a rifle stuck under his chest from where he had eaten the dirt in a final fall.

"...Maybe..." Sanford muttered- he glanced over the rocks. "-DOH!"

 ** _BMM_**

 ** _BMM-BMM_**

-Who knew the chieftain had a rapid-fire barrage setting on that thing?

Whatever the case, the rocks were lit up with thrice bursts of shrapnel and smoke- the chieftain laughed maniacally in the backdrop, and Sanford was lucky that he was low enough from the bursts to withstand most of their fury.

The armor was capable of dealing with glancing hits like that, but he wasn't about to become curious and willing to experience what could possibly happen should one of those rounds directly hit him.

He ran out into the open for the corpse with the rifle he had seen- and he was sure the chieftain would fire at him again.

"-DAMN, HUMIE'-!"

 ** _CCHM_**

 ** _SLK_**

"-AAAGGHH!"

Sanford planted his foot into the dead Mutant's ribs- sent the corpse flailing over in a tumble of green limbs.

He bent down and picked up the rifle, hearing the wooden frame rattle in his grip as he flipped it over and checked it.

It was undamaged, as far as a Mutant owned weapon went- and much to his chagrin, it was a bolt-action, an old hunting rifle- things were bad news if you were wielding them in close quarters, but it was better than nothing.

Glancing up- he saw the chieftain swinging his organic arm about wildly, and materializing from his side was a sleek shadow that whisked back into the darkness with a few pads of sharp, clawed feet.

The Deathclaw ran in, sliced the chieftain's back right down the middle, cleaving through the layered plates of metal wrapped over his torso, and drawing four bloody trenches that separated the green flesh raggedly and with running flows of crimson.

The chieftain, being what he was- didn't even process the pain that symbolized the terrible injury- he swung around and started to aim his bionic launcher at the Deathclaw's last seen direction.

Sanford just had a bad feeling about it, that, THIS, was the shot she wasn't dodging.

A gut feeling, they'd always been right in the past.

Sanford grabbed the bolt handle, pulled it back slightly, and saw a single round still loaded- he didn't observe long enough to see if there were any more below it.

In an instant, he steadied the rifle with an aim down the iron-sights, lining his helm eye lens down the gun's spine.

He found his mark, in the way only he could- and he compressed the trigger.

 ** _CLK_**

-The gun didn't even flinch in his powered grip.

However, the chieftain flinched, and he flinched A LOT.

Because the bullet sailed towards the giant, green freak- and it implanted, dead center, his right eye.

 ** _PWK_**

-Sanford heard the wet crunch from where he was, and the chieftain reeled back with his arms flailing into the air, a contrail of shining crimson flinging from the gaping hole in his head, he opened his yellow-toothed mouth, and screamed for a second time tonight.

Only this time, this wasn't a scream of defiance, it was a scream of pain.

"AAAAAAGGGHHH! AGH! AAAGGHHH!"

The ground rumbled as his giant, booted, green feet thwacked and thudded about- the massive Mutant almost fell over to the side, and swung his arms out to steady himself in the most spectacular stumble Sanford had ever witnessed.

The bionic launcher barked- **_FMM_** -and the shining comet of its grenade launched straight up into the night air, arced a full story above, and then started to descend calmly, peacefully- into the distance as its wielder hollered and tossed about.

Sanford blinked as he observed the distant grenade fly off into the night, somewhere outside of the camp's limits- he glanced back down at the corpse of the Mutant he'd acquired the gun from, and bent down to search for a bandolier.

When he found it, he tugged it off the beltline- flicked open the flap, and found what he was looking for in the form of a few stripper clips.

"-I can't believe I hit it," He just praised himself for it now, taking a stack of rounds out, leaning the bandolier against his hip plating until it magnetically stuck from the bullets inside. "Right in the eye! WHAM!"

Breathing in excitement, Sanford pulled back the rifle's bolt, saw the shell eject into the night- he shoved the stripper clip into the top feed, and compressed until the stack folded into the gun's receiver, he brushed away the clip's metal strip, and slacked the bolt closed.

"-HUMIE'! RRAAAGGGHH!"

Sanford's shoulders deflated in shock- he looked up- and running towards him a flailing mess, was the very Mutant that he had shot in the face.

Any human would've been killed instantly- a bullet entering the eye? Come on, WHO could survive that?

-The gigantic Super Mutant who had a clan of other Mutants answering to him, apparently, that was who.

Even with a bloody, black hole in his head- the Mutant chieftain stormed towards the armored human- his green arm tossing about, the bionic launcher swinging by his side- feet thundering the earth with dust-kicking stomps that could be felt through Sanford's boots.

He sheepishly aimed the rifle, and fired- **_CLK_** -yanked the bolt and discharged the shell, fired again- **_CLK_** -and the chief didn't blink.

"SHIT!"

Sanford ducked forwards when the giant's shadow loomed over him.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

It had long entered into a dreary, gray morning when Hancock started out into the fray once more.

There were a whole bunch of hours spent flying over barren landscape, crisscrossing lanes of abandoned roads and going around the rusting hulks of dead cars- and Hancock didn't stop for much in his crusade of perseverance.

Every now and again he would levitate in place to give his scanners a good sweep of the hills- and every time he either came up dry, or received further enlightenment that the signatures of all kinds of Wasteland fauna were scurrying about as usual.

It was interesting- he found signatures that clearly shown small packs of Molerats and Mongrels about- and yet none of them seemed to really be seeking him out.

...It must have been because of how quiet he was, they just didn't really pick up the scent or hint of a quiet robot.

That was just... WRONG.

He was Hancock, THE Hancock- and here he was, floating around with nothing to say, nothing to comment about, nothing to get animated about and most certainly- no Sanford to get animated at

"I can't believe that little turd abandoned me!" Hancock grumbled. "I want my money back! I WANT IT BACK NOW!"

-The kicker about all this was, Hancock had started screaming his robotic chassis off again, and at the worst of times during the hours of the day- and irony played a fair hand in allowing nothing to grace his scanners or his physical sight recognitions.

It had been hours, and the gray morning was long gone- now it was black out, night time, and this was notoriously when the biggest and nastiest predators showed up to hunt.

Yet, Hancock had been flying around, and he had come across, you guessed it- NOTHING.

Not a thing, not even a giant bug, or a rodent. Nadda', zip.

"I'm lost, God," Hancock stated factually. "I've nothing to kill, no woman to call my own, and no ape to harass until the end of time. How about instead of another thing to FAIL in killing me, throw me a damned bone! A hint! ANYTHING!"

...The blackness persisted, and the night was strong with how quiet it was.

He really needed to follow Sanford's advice- just this once -and stop trying to communicate with the creator, it just didn't work.

"Ah, pooka-balls..." Hancock snapped. "Aren't all of you getting bored?! Watching me fly around in fuckin' circles, losing my mind, losing my central processing, AND GOING BAT-SHIT, COMPLETELY INSANE?! Devils! Heathens! It's your fault, God! YOURS!"

- ** _BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-_**

 ** _WHIM-WHIM_**

 ** _-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-_**

"-Huh, that's a new one, scanners that ACTUALLY do what they're supposed to do... And pick shit up?! Ha! Ha-ha! TAKE THAT! I, Hancock, am victorious once mor-"

Hancock flipped open his scan results, and, at that moment, dramatically realized that the results were from above.

Again.

Hadn't he played this game already? With a descending sewer grate panel?

What was next? A tire iron? A car? A METEOR, heh, yeah... A meteor, funny.

"God's not THAT determined to end my bad-assery, and I'll be frank, and say that-" Hancock looked up with all three ocu-lenses, and, right there, in the sky- contrasting from the black of the night, was a hurling wad of flame.

It fell quickly, leaving a glowing trail of embers behind it, and Hancock powered his central-thruster to face the descending item fully.

After a moment of quiet, maybe a few seconds before it hit the earth- he barked out-

"-ARE YOU FRIGGIN' CHUMPS KIDDING?! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU AND ALL YOUR FLYING DEBRIS! I HOPE YOU OUTLIVE YOUR CHILDREN!"

-The grenade round flew right over his chassis, earning a metallic creak as he swung around to face where it was headed- and then it all ended with a clap of thunder, a resounding and broiling plumage of fire from behind a nearby hill, which leveled out for fading soot.

Hancock floated in the air, motionless, and wordless- surprisingly -and for a good while he just observed the far point of impact from the obviously launched projectile munitions. The robot hummed, looked back up at the sky, and laughed.

"HA! Dumbass! You missed!" He shook his chassis in victory, and went to resume his aimless wandering- when his scanners also picked up the contrail of heat that the grenade had left in its wake, which, was hurriedly dissipating.

Hancock stopped short, considered it, gave off a mental shrug and a- 'Ah, what the hell.' -and used his environmental temperature readings to trace the trail of the round that had been shot from wherever the location was.

It took him a few minutes, but when the readings returned- he noted that they also picked up a fair degree of OTHER heat-based disturbances, and several of them involved gunpowder-based residue left in their wake.

"Hmm, sulfur, evidence of a firefight- the strange coincidence, of having the one round that gets loosed off into the air land near yours truly? It seems fate isn't a complete and total bitch- 'cause I know only ONE man that can have fate spit a grenade at me!"

Hancock spun around in the direction of the now faded heat trail he'd scanned- his thruster lit up, and he zoomed off as fast as his systems allowed, leaving a trail of dust to breach off the ground he passed over, limbs stuck out behind him in the breeze.

"HOLD ON, SANFOOOORRDD'- I'M'A COMIN'! DON'T LOSE YOUR UNDERWEAR! FOR THE HAN', IS ON HIS WAY! CHAAARRRGGGGEEEE!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The chieftain tried to squash him like a bug.

It was kind of like the fight he had had with the big roach back by the steeple- the thing just tried to use its limbs, tried to bite him when he got close- seeing as this Mutant had discovered his launcher wasn't cutting it, he did exactly the same thing.

Sanford had initially dodged the fist coming down on him in an knuckle-bearing descent- because when he ducked forwards, he slipped right between the Mutant's bulbous, green, leather-wrapped knees.

 ** _BMMK_**

-The giant fist jolted as it met the earth, throwing dust all around the knuckles.

Sanford heard the Mutant bellowing, and he saw the big metal plates that wrapped over his gut practically buzzing with how loud he was screaming. Sanford realized he was trapped in a half-duck right underneath the chieftain's chin- literally.

He saw what he was aiming for, considered the angular direction of his armored body and his helm- all in the span of a the three seconds it took him to weigh the options- Sanford just went with it, after all, he was falling forwards in the perfect direction.

So Sanford lowered his helmet, bearing the cranium- and his headgear ploughed forwards, and hit the chieftain in a less than savory section of his pelvis level.

 ** _BOONK_**

-There was a terrible, metal-sounding ring- and Sanford felt something crunch even through his helmet when his headgear slammed into the leather wrapping pants that covered the Mutant's crotch.

"-AAAAAAGGGGHHHH!" If it was even possible, the chieftain screamed LOUDER.

Nobody liked having their junk get throttled by a piece of exoskeletal titanium.

"AAGGH-! WOO!- AGAHAGAHGAHAGH-OOOOO!" The chieftain vanished from over Sanford's form- he was reeling back even more than he was beforehand- and he had his one good fist balled over the space between his green, muscle-riddled legs.

The Mutant's face was twisted in horror- his bloody eye-socket leaking even more because of how much he was scrunching his brows, and for how much his face was contorting throughout the terrible screaming. This boy was just having an awful day.

Shaking his head, Sanford reached up and patted the helm's cranium- he aimed the rifle forwards, and fired three more times at the chieftain- pulling the shell out with the bolt handle after each.

 ** _CLK_**

 ** _CLK_**

 ** _CLK_**

-The Mutant didn't give much further reaction, but the ground shook, and dust catapulted into the night air- pretty soon, Sanford saw the moldy heels of the Mutant's green feet kicking about, and the screaming wasn't stopping.

"...My God..." Sanford heard faintly from behind himself- he glanced over his pauldron and smiled as the Deathclaw emerged from the darkness, winced at the events unfolding ahead, and blinked at him with her yellow eyes. "What did you DO to him, monsieur'?"

"I-! Uhm... Well," He almost proudly proclaimed his official head-butting of the Mutant's balls, but, reconsidered. "-I shot him in the eye, and I shot him in the crotch!"

"Excellent aim, Sanford," She chuckled. "-Though, curious... I thought Super Mutants lacked the ability for procreation?"

"...When was the last time you've ever met some freak who actually pulled down one's shorts to CHECK?"

"...Fair point, monsieur'."

"We should finish him off while he's down."

"You have the honors, Sanford."

"I've got just the thing for him..."

Metal clunked about and shifted- Sanford reached over his back, dropping his picked up rifle, he came back with the Nukalizer in his grip- he adjusted his other gauntlet underneath its muzzle handle, he cranked the top so that the three barrels shifted in rotation for the ones beneath it.

The Nukalizer gave off its usual- **_BEEP-BEEP_** -for confirmation of readied fire- Sanford shook it a little to hear the sloshing of Nuka-Cola Quantum in the still-loaded bottle, and nodded at her.

"Let's fry him."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

It wasn't that the chieftain didn't understand WHY he was being beaten, or even how the stupid little 'Metuul Mahn'- had outmaneuvered him and caused him such injury.

The thing that made the large, experienced, combat-hardened Mutant angry, and infuriated, was that it was a simple human, a HUMAN, prey, meat, something his boys hunted down to eat like cattle. It was horrific- the knowledge that he was losing to one of those animals.

He'd been in the Wasteland for decades, killing things, eating them, gathering weapons and bionics to augment himself over the years... and not once had he run into a human that had given him this much of a run for his money.

The chieftain was in trouble- he was blind, and his thoughts were swimmy, because, unknown to him- the bullet had damaged the inside of his skull, fractured it, if you will- and only by the mutated genes that kept his cells regenerating constantly was he able to live through this injury.

He was in the worst of pain he had ever experienced- it was raw, and it was real. Most of the time, things that tore into him were not even felt, or were pin-pricks- laughable little things, that no human technology had been able to surpass with him.

Bullets? Pfft. He'd been shot so many times he'd lost count.

Blades? They got stuck in his skin whenever others had tried to stab him, and that meant he could just pick them up and break them in two.

Rockets, even? No, no he had always been smart enough to stay away from direct hits- the shrapnel was about as effective as bullets against him- which meant it did nothing, really.

All this time he had beaten every single living thing he had come across- and he had gathered Mutants to his cause wherever he went... He was a demigod of the wastes... And yet, this one man, this one little human in a special suit, was changing all those years, all those victories, all that success, in a single night.

That wasn't fair.

He didn't accept that.

He was too GOOD, to be done in by a lowly human.

-Now if only he wasn't blind in one eye, his head wasn't experiencing an earthquake, and his stomach didn't hurt so much- he would've set about hunting down and smashing the runt AND his little lizard pet.

But all the chieftain could do was thrash about- hopelessly wait for his sight to come back when it never would.

He was a sitting duck, dead in the water.

"AAAGGH! AGH!" He bellowed, thrashing about. "-I'LL FIND' YU! I'LL FIND YU! I'LL- I'LL-!"

"Hey! Hulk's Demented Cousin?"

The chieftain stopped thrashing, kicked his legs with thundering flops- and tried to sit up.

The giant, green, muscular humanoid looked comically storybook-ish' as he righted himself on his backside, the launcher arm shifting and creaking by his side- he glared with his one good eye at the human as he stepped forwards from the dark.

Sanford had in his grip the Nukalizer- which, while the chieftain didn't know what it was- understood that it was a big gun, and that it would be the end of him.

"...HOOMAN..." He grunted, panting, blood still pouring from his caved-in eye. "-NOT... POSSEEBUL..."

"Don't believe it? Here's a memo, you fuck. This is for taking Han' away," Sanford compressed the Nukalizer's trigger. "Merry Christmas."

-The Mutant might've tried to stand up with shuffling arms, flailing legs- but at the end of the day, it mattered naught.

All that was relevant to the recollection of the next few moments, was that a blinding light lit up the corpse-strewn camp from its flank, and a roaring scream like that of a massive jet-engine howled out into the night.

 ** _wwwwWHHHHMMM-_**

 ** _BBBBAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH_**

-The flaming tear-drop excursion of pulsating flame shot out, and within seconds of its birth, the great Super Mutant chieftain was reduced to an unsavory, and crispy- pair of legs attached to a burnt pelvis that had more blackened brown to it than green.

Sanford angled back, struggling to keep the beam firing straight- grinning wickedly the entire time this physical ultimatum roared from the rather small weapon in comparison, in his arms.

 ** _PPPPHHHHWWWWWMMMMF-_**

 ** _PPUH_**

-The Nukalizer went quiet, and Sanford released the trigger.

The great plumage of blue fire snapped away all at once, and he stumbled a step back from the lack of force being omitted from the weapon.

Sanford stood with the gun still pointed forwards- the barrels hissing, glowing a magma-like orange- the faint whisper of caressing, and cooling metal was evident throughout the quiet night air. Opening his eyes after a heavy blink- Sanford saw the heartbeat counter on his scans had now dropped to zero.

He looked ahead, and winced at what he saw.

The chieftain was just... GONE, from the hip up. All that was left was literally a pair of big, green, bulbous legs and a blackened patty of burnt flesh and bone that had been his hips- the very earth around the body was blackened, and some shards of glass were scattered about from sand that had dotted the ground.

A pair of rocks nearby had a tendril-like stain drawing down their sides of pure black- and beside the Mutant's remains, was a small, elongated, trail of ruined scrap metal- all that was left of his bionic grenade-launcher arm.

The Super Mutants, were all dead. All gone.

"...I... LOVE, this gun," Sanford whispered, chuckling- he reoriented a straight stance, and he patted the top of the Nukalizer with twin **_PAT PAT_** -metallic thwacks of his gauntlet's fingers. "We got him."

"YOU got him, monsieur'." The Deathclaw stepped up beside him, and hissed at the blackened remains of their foe. "Disturbing."

"Nice and crispy."

"Stop that," She laughed. "That's just disgusting."

"Hey, well, we got him! We got the Mutants!"

"Mmmm."

"Woo! Aren't you excited? That was, like, cool!"

"...-'Cool'-...?"

"Yeah! We're unstoppable!" He turned and held his arms aloft, letting the Nukalizer cling to his suit's rear cuirass again with a hollow clunk. "We're a good team."

"Yes, monsieur'."

"...I wish Han' were here to gloat all annoyingly and such..."

"Just for that reason, monsieur'?"

"Nah, just for him to be here. He would've had some snappy comment for this jerk." He gestured for the body. "...Hey,"

"Yes?"

"You wanna' raid through their stuff?"

"...I suppose?"

"Yeah, let's take their shit! Dumb bastards thought they'd eat US? No sir!" Sanford stomped past her, laughing loudly- now jubilant, at their victory.

The Deathclaw stood in her spot for awhile longer- she smiled at the center of the camp where he ran off too, and then she looked down towards the piled remains of the chieftain again.

She cringed.

Was that all this Wasteland had for them? Fighting? Death? It was all it had had for her alone.

She grumbled, and licked at her fangs, looking down at her clawed feet.

Perhaps it wasn't worth the dwelling- she'd been dwelling for years, and Sanford had been making her stop, so, again, PERHAPS, she should be grateful for that and use it to her advantage.

She gazed at the corpse a bit longer and turned around to follow Sanford- as, he could shuffle through the Mutant's things all he wanted, SHE, however, just wanted to lie down and take a God-forsaken nap already.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Even through the excitement he felt, the adrenaline rush bottoming out for a well of proud relief- Sanford was sweating up a storm inside the armor as he retraced his way back through the Super Mutant camp to its center.

He had a big, stupid grin on his face the whole way- practically laughing at every single dead Mutant he passed.

It had been exhausting running around back and forth, shooting at them, being shot at- he was kind of used to the stress of combat, if you could ever accurately describe someone as being 'Used'- to near death experiences. But it was still a toll on his body- he felt tired.

In coordination with his aching body, that jocular tone flat-lined right off his face when he passed the bonfire pile again and was reminded to what the Mutants had been doing before they crashed the party.

The thudding footfalls of his suit stopped, and he stood before the bloody puddle that was repugnantly being absorbed by the now crimson soil beneath it- he looked at the mangled skull and the bones, and Sanford breathed out heavily and sighed.

His eyes locked towards the top rim of his cuirass, and he suddenly didn't feel all that pumped up anymore for the few moments he took to reorient himself with what he and the Deathclaw had just stopped.

The night was quiet, lacking of gunfire and screams- and Sanford had been longing for that for however long they had been engaged in combat.

Now that it was here, ironically- he was getting a whole bunch of negative vibes in his system.

He thought on it, and he nodded at the skull in the bloody puddle.

He wanted to... SAY something to it, to HIM, or HER, or whoever that skull had belonged to.

He had to remember that, to him, it was just another gruesome reminder, a static thing- to show others what kind of mindless animals the Super Mutants really were- but once upon a time, that skull, and those bones, were a person.

"Every time I see a dead person, or, PARTS of a dead person... I'm shown again and again just how violent our world has become..." He had been talking to Hancock about it, years and years ago- he said those exact words.

"But it's just a pile-o-bones, sir! It's not like I'm gonna' drain coolant on them or anything!"

"Hancock, always keep in mind- that pile of bones, at one point, used to be someone's baby," Sanford responded seriously. "Someone's child, someone's father, or mother, or aunt or uncle, or just a friend... You gotta' respect that."

...Sanford believed he respected that.

"...For what it's worth, I wish we got here earlier." He muttered- perhaps to himself, or perhaps to the puddle of blood and the skull... He didn't give himself further debate on it by directing it specifically. He didn't know who it was too, it just was what it was.

He sighed again, and slowly trot past it towards the concrete court he had been taken to before- the one with the work buildings that he hadn't a chance to search through.

Now that the Mutants were dead, the place was a lot more quiet, a lot more peaceful- despite the horrible things that had happened here obviously.

There wasn't even a breeze in the darkness anymore- just the overhanging ambience of miles of land that were devoid of any motion, it was disturbing and also serene at the same time.

Sanford stepped over to the edge of the scorch marks around the edges of the rectangular pit drop that he and his friends had been tossed into when they had been captured days ago- he saw only blackness, and imagined that most of that cellar probably caved in because of the nuke.

He gave off a considering- 'Hm' -to it, and stepped around the porthole towards the larger of the work buildings- the only one that looked like the Mutants had stored things in- the others looked pretty empty.

Sanford imagined they used the other buildings as fortifications- the Mutants had a thing with living in pretty bland little structures that were either already made of metal, or were bolted several times over with layers of scrap.

Other than the still lit bonfire towards his rear- there was only a pair of worklights that had been lit on either side of the main building- they were tall and black colored, with rectangular bulb-lids, they shined a faint hue of brightness over the court.

At one point there had been a small three metal steps that lead up to the dented and wrecked doorframe of the metal building- but it was long gone, probably broken off by the chieftain when he mis-stepped one day.

The whole little building rattled when he put a boot on the edge of the interior floor, and lifted himself up with a creak of steel.

There was a pile of metal furniture- desks and filing cabinets and whatnot, stuff you'd find in an office cubicle -in the corner of the building's rounded interior, broken, smashed. Sanford raised a brow to a shelving unit that was FILLED with guns. Lots and lots of guns.

"Jack-pot." He smiled, stepped over to that first.

It had four shelves, aluminum, rusty and old- each was piled with a lot of crap- weak weapons that Sanford specifically steered clear of, and this disappointed him.

There were a lot of copper weapons- makeshift guns that Raiders and highwaymen and other common, petty lowlives slapped together in excuse of finding real pre-War guns. These 'Pipe-Weapons'- were pretty low on hitting power, they had terrible accuracy, and the only thing they were good for was noise at the worst of times.

It would figure that these Mutants had the biggest stockpile of the things that he had seen in a long time- even more than some groups of Raiders piled up.

He lightly sifted through them- anticipating that the Mutants hadn't been smart enough, or caring enough- to unload and safety-pin all of them before just throwing them all here- the last thing he needed was a stray shot hitting him in the eye or some shit like the late chieftain.

He didn't find anything really good- he grumbled, and lifted a pipe-made rifle up from the top shelf's edge- he found a few magazines stacked under it, and he leaned forwards for a closer look- realized what it was, and nodded.

"Alright, at least there's something..."

SMG ammo, for the one gun that still worked- alright, he'd go for it, it couldn't hurt.

Stuffing them in the rucksack- he checked the other side of the chamber, and he came across a pile of actual mattresses- like, several mattresses, all worn and grimy, piled together in a big heap- this was obviously the makeshift bedding of the dead chieftain.

There were some fetishes that had nails driven through them hung over the wall next to this bedding- mostly skulls of varying type with a nail in their foreheads- but there were some robotic parts, a mummified Yao Guai claw.

Sanford saw another metal desk- this one actually in once piece- and on top of it was a rather rare sight.

There was a computer, body, keyboard and monitor, all in one- and it was humming lowly, which meant that it still had some functionality.

Sanford cocked his head at it, and stepped back towards the doorframe of the building.

"...HEY! Deathclaw, you out there?"

"Coming, monsieur'." -Came from ahead.

"I'm getting out of the armor for a bit- I stink like hell."

"...Needed information?" She frowned, materializing from the amber glow of the bonfire, and stalking around the rectangular pit drop. "Anything of use in there?"

"I found a computer, I was going to see if it worked."

"I'm sitting for a bit... Maybe sleeping." The Deathclaw huffed, and the ground thudded as she fell on her backside, and leaned against the wall of the building by the side of the doorframe- she blinked tiredly and angled her head over to look at him.

"Alright, I'll keep it quiet."

Sanford backed out of the frame, blink activated the proper runes in his HUD- and eventually he was stepping out of the suit's unfolding back- the cuirass blooming, the arms unfolding at the rear and the legs too.

The frame parted, and he slipped out, covered in sweat, a tired expression on his face.

He stepped around the suit's flank, waited for it fold closed with a confirming bleep- he noted how weird it looked with all the weapons magnetically stuck to its hips and the Nukalizer over its back- a real ragtag scavenger's suit. He liked it.

He grimaced at some roach gunk still flecked dryly on the suit's hide- he delved in the rucksack on its thigh and came back with a water container- probably his last one. He really needed to get back to the Gas Station- he and Han's rain filtering tank was probably full there, in addition to the other supplies they'd stockpiled.

He tried not to think about it too much- was still drinking out of the container as he stepped over to the computer monitor.

The screen was black, cracked at the corners and grimy- the cream-colored body of the machine was browned with age, speckled with dirt and dust, cracked in some places, and thin arms of cobwebs waved at him from the back air filter vents.

He pressed a square power button just below the screen- and he watched the computer hum a bit more, and the screen turn a light shade of dark drab green.

White text flittered to life-

 _+++POWER+++_

 _+++++THANK YOU FOR USING, ROBCO'+++++_

 _+++++USER: SIGN IN- JEMMINGS, HANK-WELCOME+++++_

 _+++++PROPERTY OF- 'HAVEN' INCORPORATED, MANUFACTURED BY ROBCO' PLANT 667-D'++++++_

 _+++COMMAND?-_

-A few choices came up beneath that- but Sanford was preoccupied with the names he read on the top of the page.

Who was Hank Jemmings? The original owner, no doubt... But was he in relation to whatever this Mutant camp had been before the bombs? Probably.

And the Haven Corporation... Sanford knew about them from before the bombs, two-hundred years ago... They were being investigated for... Something, he forgot what. Obviously, there was no need for an investigation now- they were all dead anyway.

Looking down at the selection pages- Sanford saw a _FIELD REPORTS_ , choice- and a- _DIG SCHEMATICS._

He jabbed the arrow key for DOWN, on the computer keyboard- saw the schematics option become highlighted, and hit the ENTER key.

 _++++LOADING-_

 _++RENDERING-_

-A big square image of a mapped out underground complex came to view- and Sanford squinted at it, and he thought it was a Vault for a moment.

Noting his face's reflection against the monitor- he smiled at himself, and then read a small info key on the image's bottom corner.

It read **_-SPRINGS QUARRY- HAVEN CORP. NEW ENGLAND._**

-So that concrete structuring that was just ahead of this building, adjacent to the Mutant's campsite... That was Springs Quarry.

Sanford hit the BACK key, and selected the field reports section.

A few dates came up, and he navigated between them- bending over the keyboard, using the arrows to highlight the first few and the enter key to select them.

He found the first five or so were corrupted, so he skipped them, and he tried the next few.

 _-We've totaled 300 able bodied people for this dig, and it's proving to be Haven's most lucrative endeavor in all of Boston. The equipment is just right, the management are competent, and we have yet to experience one injury or mistake among the workers._

 _Six new cranes are being shipped from New York, so they'll be here by the end of the week, and former foreman, the Mr. Jackson Mills I've been told about, reassigned himself for the project in Washington, and I still don't know why- but it did get me a chance to run the operation here, so I can't complain._

 _The workers have already excavated seven stories of quarry tunnels and the money is just flowing in with all the demand for concrete in Canada- the army loves the stuff, making all those bunkers. Gives us needed cash and makes us look patriotic- can't say I disagree._

-Sanford shook his head with a frown, he opened the next one, found it to be corrupted too- so he skipped a few and tried one dated nearly a week later.

 _-CEO's are telling us that the quarry's drying up, and it's not, and I can't get a hold of anybody for longer than three minutes to debate it with them and ask what's up._

 _This Jack, fellow, in D.C., the one who reassigned himself for the Headquarters Building there now wants his job as foreman back, and I'm hearing rumors that the guy had a break down and started a random project to expand the building's basement sublevels- what a croc._

 _I'm not letting him back in just like that, he gave me the position and here I am- he wants the job that bad? He can take it up with the A.R.' reps._

 _Workers are becoming a bit difficult now that we've tunneled down to the indicated depth of ten stories- the CEO's were being weird about it, ordering an immediate stoppage of drills- they took the cranes back to New York, which is just unfathomable- and now they have teams from the science department skulking around down there- they didn't tell us something._

-...That was weird, maybe THIS had something to do with the potential 'Illegal'- activity the company was accused of in the past.

Sanford drained his water container and read another file.

 _Workers leaving the grounds against regulations? What's gotten into these people? I've had to send in nearly fifty termination forms in the last three days- it's crazy. I don't like firing people, but, this is ridiculous- they're panicking over wives' tales._

 _I had some loon run up to me yelling about some kind of- 'Dark Thing' -I was appalled. I think those science teams found some kind of chemical or toxin, and they didn't tell us, and it's making people sick- I'm reporting this to A.R. immediately._

...That report was a week after the last one, Sanford found THE last report of all of them, and opened it.

 _CALTH CALTH CALTH CALTH CALTH CALTH-_

-This weird word, this- 'Calth'- had to have been written down the page nearly a hundred times. That was startling.

Sanford quirked a brow and clicked the power button on the monitor- scratching his chin and tossing the water container back into his rucksack as he stepped over to the armor suit.

He looked at the back wall of the building chamber, and he could almost feel the quarry on the other side of it in the distance. His curiosity was piqued by this point- maybe before they left, they would check that quarry out.

Just a thought.

"You wanna' pack up for the road in the morning?" Sanford called to the doorframe.

"Sur', monsieur'..." Came tiredly from outside.

"Why don't you come inside? Instead of sitting out there?"

"...Mmm..."

"C'mon, don't do that too yourself."

"...Doing what I always do...?"

"Yeah. You're with me now, remember? Get in here, there's plenty of room- if ole' chieftain could fit in here, we certainly can."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	30. Chapter 30

**CHAPTER 30**

 **Into the Depths.**

* * *

His nights were usually pretty sound, and quiet- there wasn't much going on his head by that point, the point where the day was ending and he was so tired that he didn't want to think about anything in any way.

Sanford would be so exhausted when the days were over- both physically and mentally- because, like it had been reiterated so many times, it felt like all he and Hancock did on the busiest of weeks was fight and fight and fight some more.

The Commonwealth was a huge place, and, while Sanford would like to praise it for being filled with diverse and tough people... It didn't feel like it lived up to its reputation of- 'One of the most settled post-War areas'.

Sanford heard stories about the other places in the world- D.C. being a primary one. In D.C. people were losing control of everything, and if the tales were accurate, than the constant turf wars in Boston city were child's play compared to the sweeping war taking place in the capital city.

Super Mutants were supposedly running rampant all across Maryland, Virginia and Washington- there was a detachment of the Brotherhood that had trekked down there only to secede from their own faction, and then summarily split in two.

D.C. was also the source of the Enclave- and Sanford didn't know much about them in comparison to the Brotherhood or some of the other issues taking place across the East Coast.

In fact, as Sanford thought of it, the Enclave at that- it kind of started to itch him, get his mind going, and thus sleep came with more difficulty.

The Deathclaw had insisted they use some of the bedding material from the chieftain's previous little pile- and when Sanford outright started to refuse using the filthy mattresses, the Deathclaw got annoyed and had trudged out into the night.

Sanford had become worried, thinking she was having a similar leave like the time they argued a few days ago- but when she came back, she was toting two, albeit, mattresses, and they weren't as horrific as the ones in the work building.

"Oh, score!" Sanford praised, taking one from her grip, and supporting it by his side, two-handed. "Where'd you find these?"

"Old house nearby, monsieur'." She said tiredly, stalking past him, vanished under the door arch to the work building. "Now shut your mouth, go to sleep, and leave me be... Or I'll lock you out."

"You don't have a lock, tootse'." Sanford chuckled.

"I'll block the door."

"Nah, you wouldn't do that to little old me."

"Mmhm, sure."

Sanford had taken all his combat plating off, all the bandoliers and straps, and he piled them all by his side with the submachine gun- as he could never sleep outside the Gas Station without a weapon nearby -and by the time he was prepared to start trying to sleep, the Deathclaw was already curled up and out like a light.

-Now it was hours later, and, Sanford had slept for a good while, but, now he was up and he couldn't stop thinking.

He was splayed on his back, eyes half-open, with a drunken expression about himself. He was caught between the world of rest and the world of the living, and on this scavenged mattress he was beginning to process what exactly he had gotten himself into.

If the Enclave had been looking for her right up until they found her, that meant they still were targeting her- after all, he doubted their military would back down from such a peculiar fight because she got some help from a Wastelander and his robot.

Sanford had made his name fighting all the scum and beasts of the Commonwealth- mercs', Raiders, monsters and mutated shit, the like. But professional soldiers? There certainly hadn't been as many of them.

The Gunners were professional soldiers, and they were good fighters, but, he and Han' had surpassed them with time, and the Gunners weren't nearly as well equipped as Enclave soldiers.

From what Sanford had seen and heard, the Enclave had entire ground divisions of Power Armored soldiers, they had their own air force, they had artillery and a fleet of combat robots... Rumors had been circulating a few years ago that they recovered and were repairing old U.S. Army mainline battle tanks.

It was scary. Those people would come after him if they picked up on her trail again, and something told Sanford that they undoubtedly would.

He lightly chewed his tongue.

...It was a big challenge, and... Really, was this creature, this reptilian being... A DEATHCLAW, something other people feared... Was she worth that challenge?

Sanford had only known her for a week, give or take- and while she seemed good of heart, very much a practitioner of justice in this horrid world... She would attract pretty bad attention from people who normally were out to do the same things and save the day.

Intelligent Deathclaws? Sanford was a pretty informed guy, and even HE had never heard of them before... So he could only imagine just how many other souls were even less open to the idea than he.

Having her with him basically eliminated his conformity of nearby allies- the Minutemen would shoot at her, people and settlers would shoot at her, all the traders and merchant caravans would undoubtedly shoot at her... And what if they ever ran into the Brotherhood? The Brotherhood would shoot at her too.

Add in everything else that ALREADY was shooting at them... And that was a lot of shooting in their direction. Lots of damned shooting. Bullets. Things that killed you dead. It didn't sound good, obviously.

Perhaps this record he had kept, not being shot in his life, would not last much longer with Ms. Deathclaw about.

...But when would Sanford ever, ever, EVER, get another opportunity like this? There were advantages and disadvantages to everything... And Sanford never ran across that many people anyway, and, it was easy for her to hide while he did what he had to do, so... Maybe it wasn't so bad.

-You see? This is what had his mind working, and it prevented him from falling asleep. One moment he'd consider the bad parts, and then reconsider the good.

Scenarios played out in his mind, and at the end of the road he just turned over, and he stared at her spiny back, blankly, without knowing what to think anymore at that moment.

She hadn't even sprawled on the matt in an organized matter- she flopped on her side, head angled over her pressed shoulder, and her scaly back rose and fell with soft rises and falls. Every so often she made a small hissing sound, like a snake, and the weirder part from that in general was that it didn't bother him.

He really had become used to being around her- they were just two tortured sentient beings, and they thrown into the same chamber by fate, and he was pretty certain she saw it that way too, and she didn't want to give up on something like this either.

Sanford tested his stomach and thought deeper on it- he recalled what he said earlier the other night-

'Wanna' disregard all logic and everything we've known and just rush into relations?'

-...What exactly had been in his mind when he said that? Where was the logic? What was he hoping for? Because it wasn't just simple humor, not at all, he wasn't going to try and convince himself of that.

What did he THINK of her? Really, like, think, about her? Of her?

She was a seven-foot tall, apparently biogenetically engineered reptilian creature that had been designed as a living weapon, she had a long crocodilian snout with razor sharp teeth, claws longer than his arm that could tear through metal... And she spoke French, and had yellow eyes, and curling horns.

By normal, human standards, she was hideous.

And to be honest, Sanford really was put off by some of the physical traits that she had, but the disturbing thing for him was, he enjoyed some of her emotional and mental traits, at least the ones she had exposed to him.

Sanford found her interesting, he liked talking with her, and he wanted to talk about more things than they had already.

But what did he call all that? Was it just interest? And what kind of interest?

The fact that the Deathclaw was of the opposite gender made him look at the entire situation differently- if the Deathclaw had been a dude, then, Sanford would probably be seeing it more as a cross-species great friendship, kind of like with Hancock.

But Hancock was a robot, something made by humans... The Deathclaw was another sentient, organic being.

Pre-War activists would have a fit with him comparing his robot to the living Deathclaw like that- and Sanford did admit, that he didn't like to think about Hancock not being a 'Living' thing, whatever that meant in his life anymore...

-Yet between the robot, and the Deathclaw, he didn't know, maybe it was just a weird thinking of his.

"...Why are you still awake, monsieur'?" Came in a tired huff from ahead of him.

Holy crap, she WAS good at detecting stuff. A master predator. Wasn't he just describing this for himself?

"...I can't sleep, suddenly." He mumbled, examining the black spines that ran down her center back towards her thin tail. "...You know what? I never really paid attention to your spines... That's weird."

The Deathclaw shifted with a rustling of her rough hide against the matting- she simply switched to laying on her other shoulder, and soon, she flopped back down again with a light thud that rattled the whole structure.

She had the side of her long head smoothed out against the mattress, one yellow eye visible, and narrowed- she draped her left claw over the side of the matt and gripped it loosely, crossing her legs over each other.

"...My... Spines?" She asked awkwardly. "...What about them?"

"I dunno'... I think they're neat."

"...-'Neat'-?"

"Yeah... Interesting, cool, you know?" He grinned.

"...Not really?"

"Oh, well, too bad I guess."

"..."

"...Seeing as you caught me awake... You mustn't be sleeping very well either."

"...Mm..."

"What're you thinking about?"

"...I never said I was thinking."

"What else do people do when they quietly drift off into space... Doing nothing else?" He reasoned. "They think."

"...I think of nothing."

"I think, you think, of plenty."

"...I think, that you OVER-think, what other people are thinking."

"Definitely I do."

"...Then there is your explanation."

"I do over-think other people's thoughts, but that doesn't mean I don't know when they're active." Sanford chuckled. "You can't win this one, dearie'."

"...I wasn't about to try..."

"Alright, so, what's on your mind?"

"...The Enclave." She lied.

"Same." He also lied.

"...By traveling with me, monsieur', they will extend efforts to kill you too."

"I'm sure of that."

"...Would you leave because of that?"

"No, I wouldn't."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to."

"Why, monsieur'?"

"...Because..."

"Yes?"

"...I mean-"

"-Be direct with me, Sanford. I want to know."

"...-Just... Gimme' a second, to, formulate words here..."

"One."

"Oh, really?" He rolled his eyes.

"Hmmhmm." She mused. "Go on."

In the dark of the chamber, her yellow eye shown through to him, a beacon- and he focused on it as he tried to properly word what he wanted to say.

"...You intrigue me."

"What is intriguing about me?" She answered quickly- almost rehearsed.

Blinking in surprise, he shifted on the mattress.

"...Were you expecting that?"

"Sur'. Now what is intriguing about me? Please answer." Both of her yellow eyes were apparent in the dark as she rose her head from the cushioning a bit.

"...It can't be as simple as, you're a Deathclaw and I'm not, huh?"

"Non'."

"...Uhm... You're cultured."

"Cultured?"

"Yes, you really are. There aren't many people in this world that would go for a Greek Mythology book, or a book about biplanes."

"Mmhmm?"

"You're smart. You've struck at things just at the right moments in a fight. You've kept my logical head on, and you've had yours on since the beginning."

"What else then, monsieur'-?"

"AND, you're brave. You're graceful with pretty much everything you do. You analyze things and try to understand them in ways I never could've dreamed of. You're forgiving, because you and me have clashed heads and you're able to see the learning from it instead of the animosity."

"..."

"...Should I keep going?"

"...Y-Yes." She said with excitement- a specific excitement. Her head was fully raised and angled down at him now.

"You have a willingness and ability to adapt to those and everything around you in ways I never had, and many others don't."

"Mmhm?"

"You have a strong heart, a strong spirit... Most people would break under what you have gone through. And in addition to that, you've come out of them better each time."

"...Like you, monsieur'?"

"...Meh, maybe."

"..."

"..."

"...A-And?"

"What?"

"Keep going, mon ami'."

"-Oh, uhm... Ah. Here's one,"

"MMMmm?"

"I just feel like I want to be around you. There is no wording, or thing I could present, that would ever explain it besides me just wanting it."

She was practically sitting up on her matt by this point- her yellow eyes locked down at him, chops curled upwards in a big grin, fists bunched between her knees for support.

"...Do you mean what you said, Sanford? Everything you just said?"

"That I do."

"...Hm." She nodded a bit, after a pause. "Acceptable."

"The female is placated with the foolish mortal's words?"

Her shoulders hopped at his humor- she thrummed quiet laughter, and grinned down at him.

"You're funny." She stated.

"Funny looking?"

"I like it when you tell jokes. I like it when you talk to me."

"I'm glad."

"...And... Pour' ma' prope' deception'... While I am not used to it," Sanford watched as she slowly raised a claw from below, opened her fingers, and held the splayed palm a few inches away from him. "-I like it when you touch me."

The Deathclaw looked her most vulnerable in the dark of the work building- she was thankful it was HER with the night-adapted vision and not him.

If this had been in the past, and she had been observing her own behavior- she would've gagged at the way she was acting right now. It was weak, and it was giving the human a position of power in her old-self's eyes... But she didn't care.

She held her larger hand out to him, and soon, Sanford was adjusting to lean on his elbows- he raised his right hand, arced it over his stomach, and she felt a twitch in her arm from reaction to the warm fingers spreading over her palm.

Sanford held his slightly smaller hand there, he looked at the connection, and then up at her and he smiled.

"...You can see all of that through... Cette tasse'... This mug I call a face, monsieur'?" She asked.

"It's not a 'Mug', it's who you are. I don't have to see past anything." He said. "I would change nothing, granted the power."

For the first time in ages, in so many years- she felt a different tornado of emotions storming throughout her body. Normally, this twister would be composed of negative chemicals- anger, sadness, mourning and confusion, but this time it was different.

This time it was, in her own words- 'Tickly' -emotions, things that made her feel lighthearted, made her feel nice. Her stomach was experiencing a feeling she had only read about in cheap romance novels, for the few she'd found- and she had always been under the impression that it was unrealistic to expect something like it in real life.

But from now and onwards, she could confidently say that she was living proof to such feelings being fact- she felt... Really wonderful, hearing Sanford say these things.

She wanted to clench her fingers, to physically hold his hand instead of just touching it, but... The nails prevented her from doing that to any good result. That didn't dampen her mood, though- and it heightened her positivity, because a few days ago she knew it would've been a downer for her.

So she sat up with him, just keeping palms together- and she smiled at him, not with any teeth, not with anything spectacular or special... She just smiled, and he smiled back.

There was a discovery here, neither had the heart or confidence to specifically place what it was yet- but the day was coming, and they were readily patient to see that day arrive on its own time.

This was the only situation in their lives that had no urgency, no need for immediate resolution, or no outstanding mountains to surpass to reach the thing on the other side- this was the one flower in a previously gray and lifeless garden that had all the freedom to grow how it pleased.

The roots would span out, the plant would get bigger, and who knew... It might bloom sooner than any, least of all Sanford and Ms. Deathclaw, thought.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Literally a mere three miles in directional aerospace from the outskirts of Springs Quarry- there was a type VB-02 Vertibird under Enclave colors that was running a scanning patrol throughout the northern sectors of the Commonwealth.

The pilot, and even the secondary communications officer did not pick up the abnormality- and even the radar operators in the rear troop bay didn't see it until the looping wave emitters washed over it again.

"We've got the subject." One reported, snapping fingers- the co-pilot was over his shoulder in an instant. "We have orders to engage?"

"Negative," The co-pilot shook his head. "They want active personnel in armor."

"So we're reporting the location? Won't it be gone by the time someone shows?"

"It's a new order from the Superintendent, he doesn't want us to kill it."

"A little late for that, if you ask me."

"Agreed. No choice though. Send coordinates-"

"-What IS that?"

"-What?"

"THAT, next to the 'Claw's signature."

"...Looks like..."

"Looks like a person."

"Human?"

"Yep. That's not right."

"...It may be. Command said this thing could communicate, right?"

"Intelligent classification, yeah."

"Superintendent Laslar should be interested to hear this."

"Yeah."

"Radio the Commander, tell him the Superintendent's target has a friend, and he's geared up to all hell. Is that a Power Armor sig'?"

"It is."

"Ten credits Laslar comes back with another helmet."

"You're on."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

She awoke to the sound of a faint breeze blowing past all the clutter, all the steel construction girders sticking from the earth, all the rusted cars laying about, and all the garbage laying about.

There were no birds, no insect buzzes, no other sounds besides the wind and the occasional shuffling of some lighter object shifting from the force of the weather.

The human bedding she had appropriated last night from outside the camp had been the most comfortable thing she had slept on in months- she had always coveted these things called- 'Mattresses' -for this reason.

Just like she rarely found books, she rarely found mattresses that were large enough, or relatively not absolutely disgusting- that she could rest on. Last night had been a rare occurrence, and with what had been said, maybe it was a sign of sorts to that.

It kind of made her think it was all a dream, and that it didn't really happen- that was why she woke up with slowly opening yellow eyes, and stared glumly at the wall ahead in the gray, dimly lit interior of the building.

She opened her chops in a great, silent, yawn that ended with a dispel of air, and a clap of her fangs closing back around each other.

She flicked her tongue about a few times- testing the air for scents of any other living things, like she always did when she traveled alone, and of course came up only with Sanford's recognition. She looked about with confusion the bare metal floor before her, and she realized she had turned back away from him in her sleep.

Blinking tiredly, she looked over her legs to the empty doorframe nearby, the exit to the chamber- it was lit a dull, light blue- symbolizing that morning was just arriving, and that technically, she still had some time to be lazy and sleep more.

It was rejuvenating being able to sleep like that- as was obvious fact, she didn't get to do that a lot.

But she figured it was bad to break her usual pattern while they were out in the wastes- so, with another drawn-out yawn, she shuffled a few times on the mattress, and started to stand from it with shivering legs.

She bent forwards with a huff, and she stretched her legs up into the air behind her, raising her hindquarters- she kept it going until there was a satisfying few- **_clkclkcl clkl clkl_** -clicking sounds from her joints relaxing.

She shook herself briefly, and ran her fingers of each claw down each of her horns on instinct- she always checked them whenever she awoke from rest. Finding no faults, and expecting none to begin with- she sighed, and scratched an itch behind her left protrusion, just above the ear-hole with a probing knuckle.

She glanced down at her side, and pondered at the sleeping human on the other matt besides hers- eyes shut, silent breaths leaving his nostrils, curled on his side and still.

Sanford looked quite different to her outside the Power Armor, and even more so without the padded combat plating he usually wore underneath that- he was just in those bland under-clothes he wore underneath it all.

It was interesting, for all the things he spoke of, he was awfully boring when it came to dress- and she only found that observation because of all the crazy gear she had seen on humans in the past.

Turning from her stance over the matts- she jumped a bit when the standing, hunched over shadow of Sanford's Power Armor suit met her gaze, facing away from her towards the archway to outside. She noted the equipment, and, with a bit of youngling-like mischievous curiosity, she glanced back at Sanford to see if he had woken.

-Which of course, he hadn't.

She shrugged and trotted over to the suit, narrowing her eyes at the back spinal section, which had a crank wheel attached to it, with a hollow tube that she knew he inserted the suit's power source into. He probably had stuffed it in the pile of combat plating and guns he had by his side during the night.

She leaned over the suit's back and started eyeing the helmet's cranium- she noted some dried stains from the roaches they had fought, and a blackened hue on the frontal facing sections of the entire suit- there were scratches and light dings all over it.

A week, and Sanford's armor had seen a beating- it was insane.

She'd gutted the suit's abdominal section, the entire front side was burnt from glancing explosions, there were dried roach guts everywhere, and it was a miracle no other forms of damage were present. Yet the suit still worked perfectly.

Sanford had described to her that this was a different model from what other groups in the wastes were using- and, really, she hadn't known beforehand that there were different variations, she thought the physical differences between suits she'd seen were aesthetic.

But Sanford had been eager to explain what was in usage by who- claiming he'd heard of and seen Brotherhood soldiers in T-45d armor, and that really powerful Raider chiefs had custom-made scrap armor over exoskeletal frames.

She asked him what variants the Enclave was using, seeing as there were a few- and interestingly, Sanford didn't know. He reasoned they might have their own variants of Power Armor.

That was intimidating, the industrial strength that the Enclave sported- they had the ability to mass produce their own guns, their own Power Armor, equipment, and even the flying machines they used, the 'Vertibirds'.

She walked circles for a few moments around the inactive suit, mulling on the Enclave like she had claimed was keeping her awake last night.

Far from it, though, she wouldn't admit to it.

She lightly cuffed the pauldron of the suit with a tiny, metallic brush of her scaled knuckles against the titanium layers of plating- she hummed at it, and turned for the archway out of the building.

The air was still a bit cool from the receding night, and wisps of mist were curling and convulsing slowly about the dusty concrete court that centered the work buildings- the corpses from last night's firefight were still strewn everywhere, motionless, and green bundles against the dark ground.

She swept her vision to and fro about the campsite- she felt a haunting stillness, that probably was always at the site even before the Mutants took it over, whenever that had first happened.

Sanford said that he had a lot to tell her about this place, and that it was part of a larger facility that was just nearby- close enough for them to walk around the main work building and see it. She angled her head to the west and tried to peer around the rounded corner of the main building she stood in.

Snorting, she turned back to the camp, the body-strewn, dead, camp.

Maybe she would look around before even considering this 'Quarry'- that Sanford spoke of.

So she opted for that- she stepped down from the ledge, and started to glumly stroll about the property, eyes with a bored droop to them.

All the bodies of the Mutants they'd killed were still here, unmoved, un-tampered with. She bent down and examined some of them as she passed, and with each Mutant she saw she felt that they got uglier and uglier.

They were resilient creatures, no doubt- they could survive grievous injuries, and they healed faster than humans- they looked different than the ones in D.C.- who were more yellow-ish' tinged in their skin tone, and arguably they were even UGLIER.

The Mutants in D.C. had a different origin too- they captured live humans to increase their numbers, infecting them with some mysterious chemical that she hadn't stayed long enough to find the origin of. These Mutants were always mysterious to her- they obviously weren't of the same alignment or breed.

She also wondered where they came from- unless these Mutants had another chemical they were using to make more of themselves, she doubted there was some evil, top-secret lab being run by a deranged scientist that was churning them out without anybody noticing.

-She wouldn't doubt that such places DID exist, but usually, it only was so long before humans started to notice things like that, and no rumors were circulating about such a thing for Boston's Mutants.

She had to vary her steps as she covered the varying, beveled terrain of the site- she walked a good few circles through the camp and became bored once more.

She strayed from the outskirts of the campsite, passed the same rotten, blackened brambles that they had hidden behind to prepare their night-based attack- she gathered up the top of the hills that surrounded the quarry.

This was the same hill that she and Sanford had surmounted and descended- she looked ahead at the mostly cleared landscape, and faintly, she could see the thin shadow of the railroad they had followed in the far, far backdrop.

There was no movement anywhere in the rolling, dusty terrain- so she turned back around and examined the campsite from above- it really showed more of the carnage they had wrought, because from this height she could see all the green humanoid specks gridded throughout the grounds. Tens of them.

She noted the beginnings of the concrete rounded base structure of the quarry behind the campsite- it was hidden in another dip of the land, and mist obscured much detail from her eyes. The metal, chipped, yellow painted arm of a mechanical crane was barely audible over the chin of the leveled terrain.

Sanford had said it was called 'Springs Quarry'- she didn't know what to make of it.

Now that she was awake, she had to admit in her conscience state- that it was awfully quiet around this patch of land, like, strangely quiet. There weren't even the common pests around here in the form of Molerats, or bugs.

Thinking jokingly, she smiled at the thought of the quarry being- 'Haunted' -or some other stupid shit that humans had conjured up.

She had read a little bit about the belief in the supernatural- and it all sounded like pompous hogwash to her by the end of it all. Maybe Sanford would have some comment about it.

"- _A-HA! Take that! You wrinkly little testicle-licker! -AND THAT! YEAH! C'mon, bitches! THE HAN' HAS ENOUGH FOR EVERYONE!_ "

...She... KNEW, that voice, didn't she?

...And, Sanford knew that voice too, right?

Oh lord.

The Deathclaw shut her yellow eyes the second the bawling echoed distantly from the hills behind her- she huffed, and gradually, the faint sound of a weapon discharging, the metallic- **_CLAK CLAK_** -'s of a specific gun were known.

There was a small part of her that had been hoping the robot had been dismantled- but, as fate would have it, her smaller hopes were crushed. Again. Though, she supposed that was a sign from God- it was better for her to NOT wish harm on her newfound ally's friend.

Still, the dread in her system was palpable.

She turned around on sluggish heels, and started trudging down the other face of the hill, her tail draped behind her in anguish.

"Maudis-moi' vous voulez'?" She mumbled. "This ought to be entertaining."

"BACK OFF YOU INBRED FREAK!"

 ** _rrrvvvvmmmmVVMMM_**

-It sounded like a chainsaw was hacking through a pound of rotten meat- it was the first description that came to mind when the squelching started, following the whining mewls of a dog of some kind, or something similar.

"I'LL TAKE YOU ALL ON! FIIIGHHHTT MEEEE-!"

 ** _CLK_**

"-AH! JESUS CHRIST! YOU BITE LIKE A TOOTHLESS TODDLER WHO JUST GOT KICKED IN THE FACE BY NIXON!"

 ** _CLAK CLAK CLAK_**

-The Deathclaw didn't have to walk much farther, until she stood at the top of a creasing raise in the land, and down a few feet away from her, was a small pack of wrinkly, pink-skinned horrors that encircled a center, metallic being with an engine thruster keeping him afloat.

Mongrels.

She blinked at the scene slowly- seeing several of the mutated dogs lying dead about the ground, one missing its head- and green bolts were flying out and boiling away holes bigger than her fist in the scattering survivors.

She thought that the pack was circling Hancock, but in reality, they were panicking because they were too confused to find a quicker way of getting away from the deranged Mr. Gutsy robot.

"HA-HA HAHA! HA! AHA! HAAAA! TAKE THAT! YEAAAHHH! YOU LITTLE SHITS!"

Green bolts flew out a few more times, the flamethrower on one of his arms belched out a cone of illuminated magma into the air- and two of the Mongrels that had tried a last-ditch run for him scrambled and rolled onto the earth alight, like roman candles.

Hancock slaughtered the entire group by himself- something that impressed her, she watched silently as the last of the dogs collapsed down the hill she stood on, unable to run up it fast enough before plasma wads ate into their bodies and killed them.

Watching the pile of pink corpses briefly, Hancock let out a cackle, gleefully flew over to one of the cadavers- and emptied the rest of his rechargeable battery into its head. She grimaced at the horrible popping noise the splitting skull made.

"I'll see ya' in hell, baby-cakes!" Hancock proclaimed. "For LIBERTY! U.S.A! U.S.A! U.S.-fuckin'-A.! Yeah! Yeah-ha-"

The robot must have noticed her, because he spun around with a blast from his central thruster- glaring up at her height with all three of his ocu-lenses.

The robot had acquired a whole bunch more scuffs and burn marks since she had last seen him- and now, that he was silently glaring in her direction, she frowned blandly and raised a claw in splayed fingers for greeting.

"Bonjour'?" She offered.

"...Holy garden squirrels!" Hancock barked. "Iguana-Face! Boy am I glad to see YOU! And that's amazing in and of itself! HA!"

"...Touching."

"Now that pleasantries are over," Hancock aimed one of his three arms at her- the flamethrower/missile launcher attachment one- she heard a warhead chamber from her distance. "Tell me where the San', of the 'ford- is... AND CLARICE WON'T RECTICALLY DEMOLISH YOUR SWEET TUCKOUS!"

"...I can't even comprehend what you just said, you screaming pile of bolts."

"BIGOT!"

"Sanford will be THRILLED to see you again..."

"So... He ain't dead?"

"Of course not. I took good care of him."

"HA! At least someone besides, ME, did it right! You got moxy', alligator-constipator!"

"...Mm."

"Where is he?!"

"In the Mutant camp. We cleared it."

"...So... The fight's over?"

"Yep."

"DAMN! CURSES! FOILED!" Hancock screamed as he lowly flew up to her position. "-And, SHIT, I don't have a fancy monocle to dramatically tear off my face to make the statement more powerful!"

"You're very confused, usiner'."

"DID YOU JUST CALL ME A URINAL?!"

"...Usiner', you babbling freak. Usiner'. Francais' for 'Machine'."

"...Oh... Formal terms? From you, Gecko-Butt? This must be hell. I'm dead aren't I?!"

"If that's what you have to tell yourself to feel better." She turned around when the robot got close enough, not even bothering to look him in the ocu-lense. "Let's go, he's still asleep last I saw."

"ASLEEP?! Heresy! There's no sleep permitted here!" Hancock ranted, zooming up beside her with a whoosh of his central thruster. "He ain't hurt is he?"

"Not at all, quite the contrary." She rolled her eyes, starting back across the beveling land with dry footfalls. "I have no desire to hurt monsieur', you freak."

"Oh, GOD, you and you're- ESCARGO terms and shit... BAH!" Hancock snapped, gazing at her with one ocu-lense as he floated beside her. "You killed all those Mutants? Even the big ooga-booga bitch who took my frikkin' gun?"

"Sanford got him."

"AH-HA! That's my monkey!"

"...Speaking of your gun, how...?" She gestured for the basically brand new Plasma gun on his arm attachment with a nod.

Hancock zoomed his center ocu-lense down on it, and looked at her with all three.

"Never attempt to unravel the mystery of, THE HAN'." He stated factually.

The Deathclaw sighed.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	31. Chapter 31

**CHAPTER 31**

 **Heroes and Villains.**

* * *

The Vertibird landed at Braggman's Treatment Facility at exactly 7:12 in the morning, a day after it had taken off from the pad on the M-100 Base Crawler in Washington, flown over the radioactive waste pits that were New York and Pennsylvania- and entered New England airspace.

The plant was a single large, rectangular building festooned with bulbous tank towers on either side of a T-shaped structure- there was a loading yard devoid of life, and filled with ruined trucks and shipping containers all around it.

The 7th Division had been using the building's roof as an unofficial landing pad- and when Laslar's VB-02 neared the concrete top to put down, there were already three other Vertibirds propped up on their tri-stilt landing gear nearby.

Two were VB-02's as well- but the third and last in the row, was a rare sight indeed- a VB-130 variant with a powerful Gauss Mortar cannon sticking from its upper right hull flank- observation bubbles were on either side of the cockpit in pairs.

A few of the pilots and staff members were walking around in their jumpsuit attire- heads raised as the newest aircraft's rotors screamed a final time, and the stilt landing gear unfolded with hissing whines from the VB-02's belly.

The propellers started to settle, and the craft shifted when it touched down, and the rubberized wheels squeaked against the concrete of the plant's roof. The rotors began a slow decline in rapid turning- and one of the troop bay ramps slid up and ajar, disgorging six darkened, and armored individuals who had already tore themselves free of their restraints.

The ride had gotten all the soldiers inside a desperate want of motion and walking- but even with that vigor, Laslar and Luft were the first two to exit the craft with their four attachment members of the squad trailing behind them.

Hopping down from the slightly raised, bulky ramp- the last soldier stood rigidly with the quad row behind Laslar's stance- and the Superintendent was too busy eyeing around the roof to really notice or even care about the discipline his men were obviously showing for him.

All the little people around him... The weaklings out of the Power Armor- lounging around, looking at him like he was some alien, intimidated by the stories they'd heard, and by the customized snarling helmet he wore like an extra face.

Laslar stood for the first time in darkened, awakening daylight, in nearly twenty hours that had been aboard the Vertibird- a normal flight would've taken a handful of cycles, if the radiation wasn't screwing up every single piece of technology that got anywhere near it.

The Superintendent actually glanced back at the aircraft as he thought of it- he was mentally cursing the science staffs on the Capital Rig in their inability to produce Vertibirds that could withstand the unbelievable levels of radiation over New York. Was it THAT hard to do their jobs?

"Superintendent Seduun, sir, the 7th is at your disposal."

-Laslar immediately had more of a respect for the armored officer stepping out from the skirts of the landing area for the Vertibird craft, for however meager it was- Laslar raised a bunched fist and clacked his gauntlet in a light salute over his cuirass.

The officer returned the gesture, and nodded at Luft as he cleared the brief distance- standing as tall as them in Enclave standard Power Armor.

"Name? Rank?" Laslar grunted.

"Hector Osolin, Master Sergeant. Commander Rime is on patrol, I'm in his stead, sir."

Laslar glanced at the Master Sergeant up and down, nodded in disinterest.

"Field HQ set up?"

"-Yes sir."

"Communications uplink established?"

"Yes sir."

"How many 'birds are operational?"

"Six, sir."

"Men?"

"One-hundred and eighty able-bodied soldiers. Staff is unpacked."

"You have an uplink with the Capital Rig?"

"Negative sir, with Raven Rock."

"Break it."

"...Sir, President Eden specifically ordered us to keep it up."

"I'm giving you orders to cut the connection. Break it. This is my operation now, we're doing it my way."

"...Should I notify Commander Rime, sir?"

"I'll notify him myself. I'll need to see all your field reports, all logistics records, and all active equipment/personnel records. I looked at the schematics of the plant- there's on old foreman office you're currently using as a barracks- eject the staff there, that will be mine and my squad's new temporary quarters.

All six Vertibirds are to be redirected here, cancel any sweeps they are making- I am dissolving all commands and command titles, and I am taking complete control over the operation. I'll discuss this with your Commander.

-Finally, me and Sergeant Luft will lead a team towards the last known location of my target- I'm here to catch the experiment you haven't caught in years, see it as me cleaning up someone else's mess and it'll look a lot prettier.

I want this done by the end of the day so I can begin my deployment- any questions?"

Poor old Hector had been in the Enclave military his whole life, and throughout his career he had never actually met face-to-face with Eden's feared Superintendent- now that he had though, he felt like his eyes were going to fall out of his skull for the long list he was forced to take in.

The Master Sergeant stood unmoving, and unwavering in his dark-colored Power Armor, the green helm-lenses on his headgear practically bulging at comprehending Laslar's demands.

Clearing his throat, he nodded, giving off a light creak of steel.

"A-Aye-aye, sir."

"Good. We have work to do. Lead the way, Sergeant."

"Y-Yes sir."

As the group of armored men trotted away from the now silent VB-02 behind them, Luft leaned over and muttered into a private communication link to Laslar's helmet.

"Hector here sounds like he pissed himself."

"This warrents my care?"

"No. It's just funny."

"What will REALLY, be funny," Laslar smiled- reaching down for his equipment belt. "Is what Eden will have to say when I close this operation in a week or less."

Laslar's favorite sidearm was magnetically attached just behind his Plasma Pistol- it was a specially crafted Ripper blade, the size of a machete- and the chainsaw-like weapon draped by his right thigh, inactive.

He hadn't used it since his last deployments outside of D.C.- years and years ago.

He couldn't wait to use it to chop up his former experiment- the perfect way to break it back into the routine of slaughter.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Braggman's at one point had been a pretty influencial treatment facility before the war. It supplied water to thousands of consumers across the city of Boston and neighboring Brookline- when people had started migrating more to cities like San Franisco and Seattle, Braggman's had fallen into steady disrepair.

When the bombs dropped the building remained relatively standing- Enclave updated schematics showed much of the bottom floor had been ruined, and several second story storage chambers had caved in.

A row of water tanks along the back spine of the building's T-shape had also collapsed sometime around a hundred years ago- and no one knew where the scrap went, probably collected by some industrious lot for whatever usage throughout the ages.

A group of vermin had been using Braggman's as an outpost- Raiders, the run-of-the-mill highwaymen- the 7th had cleared them out with no casualties as expected- Laslar would've had a good mind to shoot Master Sergeant Hector for news of his men dying to subhuman rodents.

The whole time he stalked down a leveled staircase to the interior second floor of the building, there were all kinds of general staff that stepped aside or went in doorways like the Devil himself was trekking through the halls.

Saluting, and remaining rigid- Laslar found the antics supererogatory and overall pointless- he was here to do his job and he had no interest in the Enclave's line of command culture.

"How large is Rime's staff, Sergeant?" Laslar questioned, their bulky forms likened to dark, shadowy titans that silently stalked through halls of peeling plaster, faded and torn poster papers adorning the walls- a rife stench of mildew present for all without helmets.

"Fifty bodies, sir."

"...That's nearly 30% of the 7th Division." Laslar observed. "I thought this wasn't a prime directive beforehand?"

"More elements of the 7th were shipped from Washington under Commander Rime's orders."

 _That's a lie._ Laslar mentally noted.

"Sure." He went with it. "Did you arrive with the VB-130 type outside?"

"...Yes."

 _God damn, he's terrible at this._

"Alright."

They passed through a wooden archway- which Laslar was made to slightly incline his shoulders down to pass through, seeing as he was a half-head taller than every man around him.

Inside was a large chamber of some former occupation to the Braggman plant- there was a cluster of metal desks that were gathered in a big excuse for a table in the center of the room, their flat surfaces pressed and lined together.

Deployable laptops were gridded across them, and a group of staff were seated in swivel office chairs typing away at them. A five foot-tall holographic monitor was propped against the far wall on the other side of the room, beside a closed window that was boarded with nailed 2x4's.

There were a pair of soldiers by it, helmets off, chuckling about some issue that Laslar partially overheard as holding terrible field rations in subject.

Most of the unit's things were haphazardy piled in metal, top-grated workcrates that were stacked on both ends of the room and throughout the Braggman plant- the setup annoyed Laslar. It was shanty, and it LOOKED bad. He didn't care how it sounded.

"Your communications department told me one of your 'birds found my target."

"Yes sir, we did." Hector replied, standing just before the typing team of staff, he turned and held a gauntlet out to one of the fellows sitting there- whose head snapped up when gestured to. "Chief of Signal Corps, Selvan."

"Robert Selvan, pleasure to be of service, sir." The darker skinned man smiled underneath his black officer's cap- he was an ugly fellow, pudgy, but he had a powerful voice, deep.

"Where's the 'Claw, Chief?" Laslar ignored the commentary, looking down at the seated man.

Feeling small, Robert hurriedly locked eyes with the laptop again and tried to forget about Laslar's helmet facing down to him- he typed for a second, and turned the rotatable screen towards the Superintendent.

"Right here, sir. Medium distance, Springs Quarry." Robert pointed to a blinking, orange dot on the amber-colored, dark screen showing an overhead scan of the Commonwealth.

"Interesting note, sir," Hector interjected. "Your Deathclaw has a friend."

"Friend?" Laslar asked straightly. "Explain."

"We picked up a human life signature in the structure your target was in," Hector nodded at Robert, who turned the screen back around and started pulling up the Vertibird's scanner file. "He's wearing a suit of Power Armor."

"Hmm. A challenge then- and this is assuming this- 'Friend' -wasn't hacked to mincemeat shortly after detection? What makes you think the man is WITH the 'Claw?"

"Vertibird 6 was observing for a full twenty minutes before Commander Rime ordered them back." Hector explained. "The human and the Deathclaw were coexisting without incident."

"And you said this man is wearing an exo'?"

Behind him, Luft had his arms crossed over his cuirass, a brow raised to Laslar's rear pauldron- he didn't sound awfully concerned by this.

"Yes sir." Hector nodded- Robert turned around with the monitor again and pointed at the pict-file Vertibird 6 had snapped from its heat sig scanners.

Laslar bent down with a creak of metallic servos- he eyed the blaring red outlines of the two beings in the hunched, rounded, and squat structure wordlessly.

"That's either a T-60 or a T-51," Laslar muttered- he saw a third possibility in it, but he didn't want to voice it outloud that this random Wastelander might have acquired a pre-War X-01 suit. "Alright. Give me and my team two hours- we'll drop in, I'll kill him, we'll restrain the Deathclaw."

"Sir, just as an advisement, the creature is fast. A group of paratroopers weren't even able to secure it, and they dropped right on top of it."

"Nothing is too fast for me." Laslar stared Hector to silence. "I've outrun the entire NCR army and the Brotherhood. I've hunted this thing's kind in Texas when I was in rags. I have this."

"I never doubted this, sir."

"Mm. Where is Commander Rime?"

"He should be returning with Vertibirds 2, 3, and 4. As per request."

"Direct him here immediately when he lands, we have a lot to discuss."

Laslar broke away from the conversation without another word or even a mere indication that he had been intending on such- he left Robert and Hector glancing at each other with a few mutterings. The Superintendent nodded off his squad, and the four infantrymen stalked out of the chamber through the door arch silently, boots thudding.

Luft was still standing where he was, arms folded awkwardly with the bulky armor gauntlets- he spoke with caution.

"I'm on your side, so bear with me," Luft said readily.

"Aye?"

"Don't you think Eden might make this problematic if you start just shutting everything down and reworking it?"

"Eden isn't going to know."

-Outside, muffled, the screams of rotory blades were present, and the whoosh of jet engine modulators.

Laslar glanced at the cieling, and back down to Luft.

"You don't think Rime is just going to bend over and let you have at it, do you?"

"He has no choice. He's not going to make things easier, but he's not stupid."

"Of?"

"The fact that I have all the authority and power to demote him to some border outpost in the middle of Nevada."

"He'll take kindly to it, I'm sure."

"Stop bringing it up. It does not matter, we have a job to do, personal crusades are just an obstacle."

"Whatever you say."

"You address me as- 'Sir'." Laslar growled.

"...Sir." Luft mumbled. If it hadn't been around the staff and Master Sergeant Hector, it wouldn't have mattered. Laslar was a bit two-faced with him with sometimes.

Echoing thuds of titanium layered boots from working exo's rumbled from the door archway- and when Luft stepped aside, facing with Laslar the newer arrivals into the chamber, the Sergeant almost laughed out loud when he saw just WHO was there in addition to those expected.

"Superintendent Laslar Seduun, sir." A man clad in full Enclave-variant X-01 Power Armor ducked through the wooden archway, and stood before Laslar in a heartbeat, his face obscured beneath the insectoid-like pattern of the helmet over his head. "Commander Rime, 7th Division."

Rime raised a gauntlet and cuffed his cuirass-covered breast with a metallic clunk.

"Who's this?" Laslar nodded over Rime's rounded shoulder pauldron to a second figure that stepped into the chamber.

Rime glanced at Laslar's direction THROUGH him, and then again at the Superintendent, before angling his head in annoyance and stepping aside with twin rumbles from his boots.

There was another man standing there, clad in in 'Tesla' mark Enclave armoring- rounded circuit towers and links drawing down his gauntlets, ankles, shoulder pauldrons and cuirass to create a similar refraction field effect that Laslar's more advanced plating had.

Laslar wouldn't have been fazed by this mysterious other's appaerance- except, that when he glanced at the trooper's left breast on the cuirass, he noticed a small 'E' symbol, that was different from the armed forces or national insignia of the Enclave.

It was an 'E', with a stylized ring of stars around it, that ended at the bottom in the stead of two smaller letters, and those were- 'I.'- and -'D.'.

 _Eden, you son of a bitch._ Laslar quaked in his mind.

"Laureen Fend, Internal Department."

-Ah, a woman then.

And a woman, at that, that Laslar immediately was hoping would end up as a casualty in the field.

"What business does the secret service have here?" Laslar immediately quizzed.

"I understand how it looks, Superintendent, but the President's best interests are the Enclave's best interests as a whole."

"So he got one of his cronies to bug my damn operation."

"Speaking with authority from the E.I.D, I can't tolerate your freer dialogue as Eden does, Superintendent." Laureen smiled beneath her helm.

"Well then, there ought to be plenty of requests for my liquidation to add to the pile by the end of this." Laslar spat.

"Just so you gentlemen are aware," Laureen ignored him, and addressed Hector on the other side of the room. "The communications link between here and Raven Rock will be maintained, lest I say otherwise."

"Fuck." Laslar was already shouldering to the doorframe- when he passed Laureen, he angled his helm over his pauldron, and snarled at her. "-The E.I.D spooks' have gotten veterans worth more than you'll ever be worth, to try and catch me slipping- and I have news, they've NEVER, caught me slipping."

"Great things come with patience, Mr. Seduun." She kept her same smile. "I hope that wasn't a gesture."

"It's what you make of it. Luft, c'mon."

"-Oh, and I've already put in a request for my post to be in your second-floor quarters, Mr. Seduun, I'm sure there's plenty of room in the basement chambers."

"Ah-ha, really." Laslar and Luft were already halfway down the hallway outside the arch, and Hector was introducing himself for a second time to the NEWER, newer addition to the party- as not even he had been informed to Operative Laureen's presence here.

They left all them right then and there- Rime, Laureen and Hector, standing to the entrance of the chamber.

Luft trotted behind his comrade with a fairly monotone posture- he glanced over his pauldron and saw that the E.I.D agent wasn't even following them with a look underneath her helmet. He saw Laslar lumbering his arms at his side- infuriated, furthermore than he had already been.

"You can't keep going up against the E.I.D." He put out factually. "I don't know who she is, but she's secret service, and you know as well as I do that they went behind Richardson's back quite a number of times. Who'se to say they won't go behind Eden's?"

"This is just more incentive to get this Deathclaw dead in one piece, or alive, all the more faster." Laslar said. "I should've figured the bigheads at the Capital Rig would start flailing their arms at some point."

"I'm surprised they didn't send a whole squad."

"-Nope, they tossed out just one, like they think that'll keep me in line."

"They would argue you shouldn't HAVE to be kept in line, sir."

"Fuck them."

"They'll cut your strings if you don't think for the Enclave first, Las'."

"Fuck them, and fuck that agent," Laslar grunted. "That damned cunt."

"You've sidestepped the service before, you can do it again, sir."

"This isn't the same. We have a skeleton crew here- discombobulated elements of a division that isn't even entirely deployed here," Laslar reminded him, turning down a corner in the hall. "Do we even know where the REST of the 7th is?"

"Eden never said. There's no reports we got."

"Which means I have to dig in records, which will be monitored by little Laureen in there..."

"...So then you're right, we just have to move quickly."

"That we do. And-" Laslar stopped, and raised a plated finger to the Sergeant. "-For the record, yes, it's 'Sir'- when we're around them."

"I wasn't complaining, just taken aback for a sec'."

"Let's go. Unpack, un-gear, re-gear, and we're flying again."

"Joy."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Creaking, metal joints, and the crumbling of tiny specks of earth- Sanford, now encased in his X-01 suit once more, stood over the precipice of a several foot drop, that lead to one of many roundabout layers, to a multi-ribbed, stone-made crater that dug in a blocky-pattern deep into the earth.

It was like a giant man-made funnel, that all centered for a concrete loading yard riddled with rusting, blue and red shipping containers, broken forklift buggies, and a large treaded construction crane whose arm rose over the height of the quarry from down there.

There were metal walkways and railings meshed in with the winding concrete paths that ribbed down the crater's flanks in all directions, forming zenith at the shipping yard at its lowest level. On the far opposite land-level side of the quarry, another set of metal buildings was propped up silently in the growing daylight.

Sanford examined the whole zone with slow sweeps of his eyes beneath the buggy lenses of the X-01's helmet- he had his scanners trying to work out any living signatures present in the area, but there was some weird inteference- maybe all the wear and tear finally causing some small problems.

Down below, there was a rectangular concrete arch that had a bolted metal door centering it- leading into the deeper tunnels of the quarry, obviously. But other than that, there really wasn't anything else here, anything else moving... It was eerily silent.

Sanford had gotten up maybe ten or so minutes after his Deathclaw friend had trekked out into the growing morning- he figured she just wanted to stroll around, be left alone- he certainly did some days.

So he suited up, had his SMG in his gauntlets, and started looking around the camp, before tracing over to the quarry- and here he stood, and he was puzzled and interested at what he was seeing.

The Haven Corp... This could be a unique find. Maybe there were some rare metals that they had dug up, and Sanford could haul a few pounds of it back home with the Deathclaw and come back some day for the rest.

A few possibilities, sounded good.

"Monsieur'?" -Came in a slight call from behind him.

Sanford didn't completely turn around, and raised a gauntlet over his pauldron.

"I'm here." He called back. "Good to see you back, Ms. Deathclaw."

"-WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME?! I oughtta' cut off your lips and reapply them up your red-eye! I'll make you kiss your own ass! HA!"

...Really now?

Sanford slowly turned around with clunking boots, his eyes narrowed, head cocked.

When he faced the Deathclaw's direction, he was enlightened to the tiny hiss of flame being released from a central thruster, the metallic shifting of a ball-like chassis, the bionic whining of ocu-lenses shifting their adjustment reticules.

Before him was a military drab, three-armed, three eyed, Mr. Gutsy robot- and it wasn't just ANY Mr. Gutsy robot.

 ** _CLK-CLK_**

-The SMG fell out of his gauntlets, and clattered off his boots.

For a moment there was silence, and as Sanford stared at the new robotic contraption to grace his sights- the Deathclaw trotted over beside the awkward contest of eyes and ocu-lense, and grinned at both man and machine.

"I found him out back, playing with dogs, monsieur'."

"Hey now! Those furry little bastards deserved what they got! Flea-bitten, disease-infested, harrassing little- rrrrRRRRAAAGGHH! FUCKIN' FURRIES!"

"...So let me get this straight," Sanford spoke lowly, finally, regaining the robot's attention. "You've been in one piece this whole time, and you only thought to come back here... Now?"

"WELL, mister- ' _You only thought to come back here, now?! Wah! Wah! Daddy! Change me Daddy!'_ -I ran into some problems, that civilized folk politely term- COLLECTIONS OF DOUCHE-DRINKING FUCK-HEADS! And other assorted skullduggery and Communist-induced crap!"

"...Didn't even try the communications uplink that I spent days creating for my helmet and your radios, huh?"

"-WELL-! I... I, uhm... You know it would've really sucked if I called you while you were in the middle of Cracker-Jackin' ole' Dragon-buster over here..."

The Deathclaw didn't get it, mercifully, and Sanford was content to keep it that way when he laughed outloud, stomped over his fallen gun, and raised an arm over Hancock's chassis. The robot's ocu-lenses compressed to himself, and he tried to lower to the ground in a receding flinch.

"GET YOUR GRIMY PAWS OFF ME!"

"Holy crap! You're not dead, man! You're not dead! HA!" Sanford locked the robot in an arm curl- slapping the Mr. Gutsy in a head-lock underneath his right armored arm with a shriek of steel- Sanford laughed and patted his other hand on top of his rounded form. "Hancock's back!"

"UNHAND ME, WRETCH!"

"-You have no clue how happy I am that you aren't a pile of wreckage, you dumbass!" Sanford had a huge grin on his face, and relief was flooding his system- he felt exicted, full of adrenaline, GOOD adrenaline.

"THE HAN' MUST NOT BE MAN-HANDLED!" **_CLM CLM CLM -_** the robot futilly slapped his claw into Sanford's cuirass a few times, and the Deathclaw chuckled at it. "-I ORDER YOU TO CEASE AND DESIST!"

"Oh shut the hell up and deal with it," Sanford leaned back and patted the robot's top again. "I'm so glad you aren't dead, my friend."

"I feel violated!" Hancock ranted, all three arms sticking outwards his lifted stance- petrofied. "Oh the in-humanity!"

"Alright, alright, alright... Geez'." Sanford opened his arm and the robot zipped away from him, angled back with a appearance of mortification about his undetailed body-langauge.

"We shall NEVER, speak of this moment!"

"No, huh?" Sanford smiled- half listening.

"This touchy-feely moment! NEVER!"

"Uh-huh."

"-AND YOU! Lizard-chops! I hearby automatically swear you in to a blood oath to keep silent of said events!"

"You don't have blood, Han'." Sanford noted.

"Who reads the fine print nowadays, eh?"

"Hancock," Sanford nodded. "It's good to see you aren't dead."

Sanford raised a balled fist, and after a pause, Hancock did similar with his claw, and clacked the side against the man's armored knuckles.

"...Good to be back for duty, sir!" Hancock said jubilantly. "You weren't injured at all, right?"

"I'm good."

"And you tore out ooga-booga bitch's balls and forced him to eat them, right?"

"...Something like that, yep."

"Perfect! Then my vindictive inner spirit is placated! The gang's back in business!" Hancock glanced between the two of them with his ocu-lenses, and noted the quarry that Sanford had been observing. "So now that I'm back... Tell me the news! Who reached puberty? Who got married? Who died? Who did their taxes?"

"...There's a lot to talk about," Sanford laughed, stepping over to his fallen gun- he picked it back up, and gazed across the quarry as he stood straight again. "And there's some new stuff we've found."

"I'm all ears! Figuratively!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Amazingly, Hancock hadn't been much for words the entire time that Sanford broke down what had happened over the last few days- the giant roach, the Ghoul brothers, the Minutemen passing and the bucthering of the Super Mutants.

Sanford was strolling through the campsite throughout half of the talk- and every now and again his speech was interrupted with Hancock stopping by a corpse and prodding it with his claw, all the while laughing, or making some obscene comment about how the Mutant's father had drank himself to death upon learning of his birth.

-The Deathclaw spent a good while napping again- after all, she had become exhausted after all the fights they'd been in, and the only reason Sanford hadn't broken as much of a sweat was because he was used to it.

"So the thing's called a Nukalizer?" Hancock asked- watching Sanford with interest as he munched out of a box of Sugar Bombs he held in his gauntlet.

"Yep." He responded, swallowing. "Fires a jet-beam of blue flame- the thing's a killer."

"LET ME TRY!"

"NO! No! Just... Oh God, Han', NO."

"I'm insulted, sir!"

"You are? I mean... Just consider this for a moment, YOU, would be wielding something like that. YOU. Eh?"

"That doesn't mean jack-shit! I'm just as civilized as the next- ... Uhm... Alright, FINE, monkey, you have a point..."

When the Deathclaw had woken, she sat outside the archway frame to the interior of the work building she and Sanford had camped in- she watched quietly the two banter about, yell at each other, laugh at each other... And for a minute she forgot that Hancock was a machine.

This was exactly why Sanford had become so connected to the Mr. Gutsy- Hancock was just as 'Person'-like, as any other Wastelander or scavenger Sanford could've come across, more or less crazy, but it stood as fact.

She had one of the books they had picked out from the house down in the still unnamed urban development that they had cleared of mutated roaches- it was the book on biplanes, and she was becoming agitated with being unable to open the book without tearing it.

Sanford and Han' were standing over the rectangular opening that they had been dropped in upon first being captured- and Sanford held a gun, a new gun, in his grasp.

"-It's good they didn't break this thing, it's the only one I have."

"You get your shotgun back, and I get my beautiful baby-gun back! HOO-RAH!"

"...Speaking of that... Where did you... Get that NEW Plasma gun from, anyway-?"

"NEVER ATTEMPT TO UNRAVEL THE MYSTERY OF THE HAN'!"

-Glancing up at the shout- she shook her head and sighed, before staring down at the bulky book in her palm with a frown.

She looked at Sanford's armored back, and she thought of calling out to him to help her read the stupid tome- but, when she heard Hancock talking to him again, she grew... Embarassed.

And, arguably, that was just completely and unadulteratedly ludicrous. Not only had she developed this bond with Sanford, but Hancock had a loud tendency to talk shit without any real basis- he'd make fun of her for a second before forgetting about it.

So then why did the idea of getting Sanford to help her, make her feel- without a more advanced terminology- icky?

She didn't like that. But she also didn't like not being able to read while Sanford worked out his lack-of-robotic-companion anxiety out of his system. She was happy that Hancock hadn't been harmed the entire time he'd been gone- and she questioned whether that was her concern for Sanford's feelings or actual care if the robot was ploughed.

She reasoned with herself that it was both. But mostly the first option. Mostly.

She huffed at it, and absentmindely lined her thumb's nail up with the side of the book's cover, and flicked it upwards- where the hard-cover flicked aside, and then, against her own recognition- she put the print of her finger against the page, and slid it to the next one.

"I've always wondered how my life has taken such drastic turns... Maybe it's indigestion." She mused, leaning down and reading the beginning of the intro paragraph to the birth of airplanes.

She got past three sentences before she narrowed her eyes, and edged her head back in astonishment to the book being open, and readable.

She blinked, looked up at Sanford, who was still with Hancock- and then back down at her pointy finger, which she flexed in front of her face a few times to process what the heck she had just done. She looked at her pointy's print, and... She immediately felt so stupid.

...Of course! Why not just slide the pages with- OH! Lord! Why had she not deciphered this EARLIER?!

Must have had something to do with Sanford- she was beginning to see him as a good thing to just be around too. Huh.

So that's what she did the whole time Hancock and Sanford reconnected- she read about biplanes, and the developmental processes that turned airplanes into what they had been before the war. The facts of Richard Pearse who did the real first flight experiment before the Wright Brothers- she got through half the first chapter.

"What are ya' reading?"

She looked up and saw Sanford standing over her- his helmet still off, a smile on his face.

"Biplanes, monsieur'." She answered, blinking.

"You got the book open." He observed.

"...OH, oh... Yes, yes I did, monsieur'." She smiled quickly and went straight across her chops again.

"That's really good."

"Oui'."

"I think me and Han' are ready to go, what about you?"

"Yes, monsieur', I'm ready." She shut the book, and offered it to him carefully, where he took it and put it back in the rucksack over his suit's thigh. "We're off to this home of yours?"

"I wanted to actually check out this quarry over here before anything else." Sanford said. "Would you want to?"

"I'LL DO IT! I'll be the brave one! They'll sing songs about me for generations! HOO-RAH!"

-Hancock zipped past in a drab-colored blur right behind Sanford's stance, and he vanished behind the corner of the work building she was still sitting against.

Watching where the robot had gone, the dust trail he'd made still wavering away- Sanford shook his head and chuckled.

"Would it be a sign of brain damage if I said I had missed that?"

"I don't know what is crazy and what isn't anymore, monsieur'," She shrugged. "-'Whatever'- is it?"

"Yep. I'll take that as a good explanation. Whatever."

"I greatly appreciate your words last night, mon ami'."

"-Huh? Oh, yes... Yeah, I, uhm... I've never had a talk like that in my life, ya' know?"

"Understandable. Neither have I."

"...Well... Hey, before we go in that quarry, I want to show you something- HANCOCK! GET BACK HERE!" -Sanford interjected himself with a call over the work building's side.

" _-THEY'LL SING ABOUT ME SANFORD! I'LL BRAVE THE HAUNTED QUARRY BY MYSEEELLLFFF-!_ "

"-The only place they'll sing about you in is hell, Han'!"

" _...Fuck you!..._ "

"I love you too, my friend." Sanford looked back down at the Deathclaw, and she had her claws unfurled, elbows to scaly knees- she supported her chin with her nails splaying on either side of her face, and she was smiling at him.

Sanford smiled back and reached out with his gauntlet- wrapping his fingers over her shoulder blade, he gave it a rub- and she felt disappointed it was the cold steel she felt.

"I wish you took the suit off more often, mon ami'." She sighed.

"Well, it's nice to be in my usual firefights with this baby, yes?"

"That it is."

"Han'! Where are you? Come back here before you wander off and get lost again!"

" _...I have an excellent sense of direction and ability to maintain clean underwear!..._ "

"You don't WEAR underwear, idiot!"

" _...That you KNOW of..._ "

"God damn... He's such a freak, ain't he?"

" _...Diligence! DILIGENCE!..._ "

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	32. Chapter 32

**CHAPTER 32**

 **Inner Conflict.**

* * *

Some of the winding concrete veins that went down in the ribbed pattern to the lowest level of the quarry were linked with metal walkways and railings, and of course, after two-hundred years, not all of those metal attachments were still standing.

Sanford and the Deathclaw had to hop down the sides of some of the paths to get at the ones below them somewhat safety- as the areas with the winding metal ways dropped down rectangular crevices all the way to the bottom level- in other words, they were one-way falls. Not really agreeable.

 ** _CLLM_**

-The X-01 left spider-crack patterns of fissures where the boots hit the concrete each time Sanford hopped down from one path to another- he would uncurl from a kneel each time, the servos whining healthily, without difficulty- before jumping again.

The Deathclaw was more lithe about scaling down the quarry's sides- she landed soundlessly, and on her heels perfectly before waiting for him to catch up, and going down the next level.

Hancock was practically laughing at them as he hovered down each winding level without effort overhead.

"And the robots with no spindly legs win once more! Take THAT! Plebians!"- Came from ahead- and Sanford looked up after hopping down another winding way.

 ** _CLLM_**

"-The robot with no spindly legs is gonna' wish he never came back in about two seconds." Sanford snapped.

"Bah! Blow it out your ear, gorilla!"

"Are your scans picking up anything?"

"Are YOURS?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Then why in the shit are you asking me?! I don't have DIFFERENT scanners than you, do I?!"

"...Ugh..."

"Didn't think so! Hancock '1', Sanford- a big fat '0'!"

Sanford didn't even bother to respond- and it was a mere few minutes later, before there was a final **_CLLM_** -emitted from his boots hitting the concrete, and around him was the shipping yard, lined with brief and uneven stacks of large, metal, and rusty containers.

The forklifts he had seen from above, now in greater detail- were just as ruined as every other piece of equipment here- and faded on their chipped, yellow paint and on their lower flanks, Sanford could make out insignia decales reading- **_HAVEN CORP_** -in bold white, angled letters.

"...So," Sanford muttered, looking around the hauntingly silent yard. "Those messages I showed the two of you... Weird?"

"Yes." The Deathclaw nodded, lazily stepping over to a forklift buggy to peer slightly into the open cab. "This company was investigated by your country before the bombs?"

"Accordingly." Sanford shrugged, minding her experimental prodding at the thin little steering wheel protruding from the buggy's rusted controls and dashboard. "I just thought those logs were really weird- I mean, have either of you heard of a- 'Calth'? Or someone named Calth?"

"No." The Deathclaw mumbled, pinching the wheel between two fingers and listening to it creak as she rolled it a bit. "Could it some kind of coding error, monsieur'?"

"Coding error? What do you-?"

"HOLY CRAP!"

"-DAH! W-What?" Sanford jumped and turned around to see Hancock flying back out from behind one of the shipping containers- he had something in his claw, and, when Sanford squinted at it, he groaned in dread. "Oh... GOD, Han', not again!"

"I FOUND ANOTHER CHEF-HAT! AHHH-HA-HA!" Hancock flicked the little headwear with his claw, casting dust into the air- and propped it neatly on the center top of his chassis cranium, adjusting it with nudges from his Plasma gun arm. "Call me- Cookin' with Gas Master CHEF, Hancock! Ha-ha!"

The robot sounded very pleased with himself, and added in-

"-Ah, you see what I did there? No otherworldly titles or mentions here!"

"Oh you're otherworldy, alright." Sanford sighed. "-As I was saying... I don't think the Mutants would've let something else live right next to them, but, just keep your eyes open, guys, okay?"

"Sur'." The Deathclaw ducked underneath the roof of the cab and flicked the rusty key still in the ignition. "Haunted underground tunnels? Laughable."

"Who said anything about this place being haunted?" Sanford smiled.

"It's obvious whoever the pequenaud' is who wrote those log files believed it," She responded, ducking back out and away from the forklift buggy to face him. "I could never understand the belief in ghosts."

"...Well, I mean, there isn't any scientific proof, yeah," Sanford stepped around her and the buggy, and started to proceed deeper into the digsite, towards the big metal bulkhead in the concrete arch ahead. "-But me and Han' have seen some pretty weird shit out here."

"As have I." The Deathclaw raised a brow, following by his side. "But the- 'Super-natural'-? Non'. Can't say I have that."

"I don't know what you call it... Interesting subject matter though."

"Bah, interesting-sminteresting..." Hancock waved his buzzsaw dismissively. "Are we gonna' check this dump out or not?"

"Big iron door of death, here we come." Sanford joked.

"Sanford." The Deathclaw chuckled. "A door of death?"

"Who knows." Sanford replied musingly.

The three of them waltzed up to this big door- it was multi-plated with riveted sheets of steel, and a pair of large crank wheels were on the right lower flank- the locking mechanism users had to turn before the door could be physically pushed open.

Sanford saw that they indeed would have to push it if they wanted to see what was inside- because any electrical systems that would have the entry open automatically obviously weren't working anymore.

The door was actually REALLY big- it was three times as tall as he was, and wide enough to support the chassis of a truck passing through it- this must have been a loading tunnel, there was probably a ramp or an underground lane that lead to the quarry's deeper sections, or maybe even a lift.

Sanford stepped up close to the door and leaned up with a whine of motors to see its very top against the concrete arch- he blinked, raised a gauntlet, and wrapped the knuckles twice on the metal.

 ** _CLUNG CLUNG_**...

-Hollow, it didn't budge, that was a good sign of it not being rigged or something crazy.

Looking over his pauldron, he angled his head back for the Deathclaw to help him push- and when she joined at his side, pressed her scaly palms to the metal of the door- Sanford nodded, and the two of them started heaving.

 ** _rrrrrrRRRRRMMMMMMMMMM_** -The door made a deep, thrumming, and ringing moan that echoed across the loading yard- and to Sanford's shock, it started to swing open with little to no problem.

Stepping back, he reached over and grabbed her wrist, taking her back with him- the two watched the large mechanical door part with creaking, industrial-sized hinges, and groaning plates.

A large square-like blackness was shown to them the more and more the large door slowly dragged itself out of their path- and they both jumped when the rear of the entry bumped against the left concrete wall inside with a resounding- **_CLM!_**

-Dust disgorged in ghostly sheets off the archway above- Sanford cocked his head, and Hancock flew up next to him to look inside the great tunnelway ahead.

There was a chamber- a really BIG chamber inside- it looked cored out from the raise in the land they faced, as the wall of the quarry's pit. Sanford reached over his side and grabbed up his SMG, held it at the ready, and trotted into the fringes of the shadows.

The Deathclaw followed- and soon, after a few blink-selections in Sanford's internal HUD, and recalibration from Hancock's scanners- all three of them were able to see perfectly in the dark of the interior.

A large outcrop of concrete extended, and then ended for a sudden drop below in the shape of a large rectangular opening- the cieling was square-like, crisscrossed with titanium lattice that ran down the far walls up ahead in large girder protrusions that vanished into the blackness of the drop.

There were four metal pillars that jutted out in a sqaure grid from the center of the rectangle pit that went deeper- Sanford saw toothed lanes going down one side facing each other on each pylon- they were riddled with wires and each had a copper-colored pipe running down along its spine.

Going deeper into the chamber- Sanford and Hancock checked both sides with quick glances, and the Deathclaw continued to gaze at the pylons in intrique- as she wasn't so cautious, seeing as she smelled nothing out of the oridnary.

"It's a lift." Sanford muttered- impressed at how silent it was that his low speech still bounced around for a few seconds in the great chamber. "Probably for trucks."

Hancock flew over to the edge of the concrete outcrop- he leaned over a reinforced fence-like barricade of steel that ridged the outcrop's edge all the way down to both ends of the chamber- where a few more shipping crates were stacked and unused on both sides.

There was a large control panel rightwards, that was by where the metal barrier broke in exchange for two large gears that were held in steel moorings, encased in protective structuring as hinges for a pair of retractable gates that opened outwards if they were to be activated.

Caution stripes were painted over the bland silvery colors of the barrier here on the gates- WARNING signs plastered all over it- an inactive alarm light on the top tip of each hinge block.

"...What is this, monsieur'?" The Deathclaw asked, looking at the gates.

"That control panel probably opens them," Sanford nodded for the large console on the right. "They're gates- for trucks to pass through."

"I dunno', sir... This has boogey-man written all over it!" Hancock said, coming back from leaning over the edge. "I ran a few sweeps for whatever is down there..."

"...And?" Sanford asked after a pause.

"I couldn't get anything, damn it!" Hancock snapped. "There's some weird-ass interference! You've been getting it too, monkey-man!"

"...Well, yeah, but I didn't think it was a thing with you too."

"Blasphemy!"

"So then, there's something in this quarry that's messing up our scanners," Sanford stepped to the control panel- he peered around and over it at the blackened depths ahead and below. "...You think the lift still works?"

"Monsieur', are we sure this is worth the possible risk?" The Deathclaw chose that moment to interject- she raised an eye-ridge. "What if the lift DOES work, and then it breaks or malfunctions once we're down there? And there isn't another tunnel we can take?"

"I doubt about the lack of tunnels," Sanford reasoned. "We got dropped in an attachment to this facility... Look how far that was, and it had its own exit. This quarry probably has a good number of them."

"...I just don't like it." She huffed. "Awfully anticlimactic to starve to death in some stupid mine."

"Nah, don't fret, Chameleo'!" Hancock laughed. "We'll just cook you and make alligator weenies'! Flame-thrower broiled alligator meat! MMMHmm!"

"...Han', you don't eat." Sanford sighed- toying with some of the switches on the control panel.

"That can change!" Hancock spiraled around and noted this as the Deathclaw frowned to his suggestion.

"We could always smash you into a million pieces and drain the engine coolant for campfire fuel, usiner'." She smiled devilishly.

"The HAN'! Will never be a campfire, Newt-Nuggets!"

"Maybe we can nail all your plates together and make a ladder if we get trapped, and then we'll leave it here for good measure."

"Ah-ha! But we could skin you and make a new snake-skin parka' to keep warm!"

"-GUYS! Please, both of you shut up!" Sanford growled, pressing buttons on the console with tiny creaks and clicks. He saw a big red one- and blinked at it. "...Hey, Han'? Lookie' here."

"WHAT IS IT, YOU SLANTED WAX APPLICATION?!" Hancock zoomed over, and looked closer with all three ocu-lenses when Sanford smiled and pointed to the button.

"Big, RED, button, Han'. Don't you want to press it?"

"...Damn you and your knowledge of my weaknesses!"

"I try."

"By hell I do! HEE-YAH-!" **_CLK_** -Hancock's claw shoved the bulbous button down at the tip- and not even a second later, Hancock zoomed back from the console with a woosh from his thruster- and spiraled around a few times, glancing about the chamber- waiting for something to happen.

Sanford held in a laugh, snickering through his nose- and Hancock looked back and forth, and then at him again.

The Deathclaw crossed her arms- not sure of what the deal was.

"...Can someone explain whats's happening?" She said.

"I'll tell ya' what's happening! I just got ripped off!" Hancock barked. "Big, shiny, red, BUTTON! The thing that must be pressed! Not some wimp-ass blue button, a big RED BUTTON! I fulfill this notion... AND NOTHING! BAH! HUMBUG!"

"You're preaching to the choir, man." Sanford lifted his arms.

"Screw the choir! The Han' makes his own music! And it's a HELL of a lot better!"

"You're insane."

"DAMN PROUD TO BE! Now... What do you all say we grab some beers and-"

 ** _WHM_**

 ** _-BMM_**

-All at once, the two industrial gates squeaked, the gears screamed lightly once, and both elongated barriers flew open outwards, and the right one made a horrible, clattering crash when it basically swatted into Hancock, and sent the robot careening in an airborne tumble.

"-WAAAAHH!" Hancock spiraled right past the Deathclaw's face- where she hopped back with a hiss of startlement, and watched, in shock- the robot roll and flail about the ground in a tumbling fall onto the concrete

Again, there was that sound of a bag of tin-cans getting tossed about.

"BWA-HA-HA-HA!" Sanford shrieked- leaning back with a cackle of laughter- he pointed at the sprawled robot with a raised gauntlet and subsequent finger. "-HA! HA-HA! Oh, oh, LAWRD', that was- just- HA!"

"-Oh Christ! I think I pulled a wire!" Hancock cried from the ground. "You little shit!"

"That's for the bitch-slap a few days ago, Han'!" Sanford was cracking himself up. "That was just... Awesome!"

"I'm so glad you're entertained by this." The Deathclaw rolled her eyes.

"Oh don't be boring." Sanford waved a hand at her, stepping away from the console as the robot shot back up to his regular flotation.

"I'll REMEMBER that, sir..." Hancock growled.

"I'm sure, I probably just gave you more memory-chip damage than what was already there."

"I'm old, JUDGE ME!"

"Old and dented."

"I'll show you dented!"

"I feel like I'm dealing with younglings..." The Deathclaw ran a palm down her long face with a hissing drag of scales. "-Can you merde's pull yourselves together and focus?"

"Yeah-yeah, alright, alright..." Sanford sighed. "That was funny though."

 ** _CLK_**

 ** _CLM_**

 ** _CLM_**

 ** _CLM_**

 ** _clkclkclkclkkclkclcklckclkclcklckclkckclclk_**

-"Uhm... What was that?" Sanford asked dumbly.

Machinery echoed from the drop behind him- the sounds of something turning, clunking, and shifting- it was getting louder, because whatever it was, was coming from below in the drop, physically rising higher.

Sanford wheeled around, dropping his jokes- he glanced at the Deathclaw and Han', backed away from the console and raised his SMG.

The three of them hunched over and watched the blackness of the far chamber ahead- weapons, and one set of claws- primed for whatever was coming up on the lift without their activation. Two hearts were pumping and one memory processor was trying and failing to come up with a comment about stained underpants.

 ** _clkclkclkclkclclcklcCLKCLCKCLCKLCKCLCKCLKCLCKCLCK_**

 ** _SSHHHMM_**

 ** _BMM_**

 ** _BMM_**

 ** _CLK_**

-A metal lift platform, silvery colored with black and yellow caution patterns painted up and down its rusty, chipped surface- materialized from the dark below, a gear acting as pulley on four flanks of it that lined with each of the four pillars that acted as the skeletal structure.

The platform bucked as it locked into place, at same height level as the chin of the concrete outcrop it attached against- something hissed steam, and all grew still and silent again.

...There was no one on the lift, no item or thing, no person or creature... Empty. Empty and somehow drawn up to this level on its own.

"...What the shit?" Sanford mumbled after a minute or two. "I-I... I guess I pressed a button, huh?"

"No-no. Somethin' ain't right here, sir!" Hancock stated. "It's obviously one of the Clintons offering us another false promise! BURN IT WITH HOLY FIRE!"

"-SSh!" Sanford hissed.

"It's obviously a TRAP, monsieur'." The Deathclaw said. "This isn't a good idea, someone wants us to take that lift."

"...Alright, we should think about this..."

"Think about leaving, mon ami'?"

"Just back up for a minute, let's go back outside," Sanford nodded. "I just want to see what it does if we don't go on it."

"But, sir! It needs to be destroyed like the un-Godly thing it is!"

"Stop ranting and lets go, c'mon."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Laslar was taking a preference in leaning out the ajar troop hatch of the Vertibird- as the 7th had modified two of their craft with open bays, that had 20 millimeter' autocannon mounts that jutted slightly out of them- with an independent seat and panel for a soldier to sit at.

The guns had foldable mountings- so they could be angled and directioned in a 90' degree turn out the sides of the Vertibird- it was a conversion that wasn't undertaken by units serving in 'Front Line'- sectors because of the open-topped nature... But on missions as this, the autocannons were very effective against wildlife or natives.

Laslar held onto the side of the large gun's blastshield just after the seat with a fully-armored soldier at the controls- wind whipped by and produced a howling whistle in Laslar's hearing.

He held his Plasma Archer on handed at his side- peering over the left chin of the Vertibird's cockpit ahead, to see the front of the underbelly passing terrain below.

In the backdrop, maybe another minute or two away- Laslar could see the whitish concrete of the quarry he had been told of and was deploying to- he saw a small array of metal huts setup nearby, and the rolling hills surrounding it.

The compound appeared desolate- and he glanced when the soldier beside him yanked back the 20 mil's large bolt.

"Alright!" Laslar called into his communication uplink- there were five men in the hold behind him, not including the two pilots in the cab, and the other autocannon operator on the opposite flank of the bay. "Vertibirds 2 , and 3, drop in after Squad Laslar engages any hostile ground targets- Vertibird 4 has immediate infantry support- all 'birds will circle and provide covering fire once we've all dropped!"

Laslar turned around, still clenching the side of the blastshield for the autocannon- he nodded at Sergeant Luft, he stuck a fresh battery into the Laser Sniper Rifle in his gauntlets.

"Sergeant Luft will be dropped at the top of the qaurry ring! Squad Franko?"

" _Aye sir?_ " -This came from Sergeant Franko in Vertibird 2- he and one man from his squad were attached to the landing, wielding Heavy Flamers.

"You'll drop behind my position on my mark, ON mark!"

" _Affirmative._ "

"Alright people, for the Enclave, let's fuck them up."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Sanford kept facing the interior of the chamber as he backed away- he had his gun slightly raised, and a nervous scrunch to his features- that lift freaked him out.

Either there was some motion-sensor system that had been activated, and, the lift had come up because some old pre-War systems still worked and detected what it thought was workers or a truck- or, someone was in the quarry and controlling it remotely.

He didn't like the last possibility- that was the last thing they needed was ANOTHER group of Mutants or Raiders, that instead of just shooting at them were now trying for something more stealthy. It was never good when Raiders got smart. Never.

"We should close this door and forget about it." The Deathclaw chimed in again. "It's not worth it."

"I hate to agree with Lizard-cakes, sir, but... She's got a point." Hancock added.

Sanford glanced at the two of them, and then back at the chamber inside the big concrete archway- he sighed, and nodded his head.

"...Alright, look, you're both right, you're right." He started to lower his gun, and he turned around to look at his robotic and reptilian allies. "But, especially with you, Hancock- you know there could be some good stuff to help us in there, right? That's what I'm thinking of."

"It's an admirable goal, Sanford," The Deathclaw said. "I'm not questioning your motives, I'm questioning what we can expect, mon ami'."

"I smell fishy-business! That, or... Scale-face didn't wash herself good."

"Vous' petit' batard'!"

 ** _CLK_**

"-OW! Sanford! SAN-FORD! She slapped me!"

"You earned it."

"WHAT?!"

"Yeah, man, you-" Sanford's gaze was suddenly drawn to three growing abnormalities in the perfectly clear blue sky just over the Deathclaw's shoulder- he squinted, leaned forwards, and stepped between the two of them. "-Oh no."

"Monsieur'?" The Deathclaw asked. "What is it?"

"Yeah! What's the- Oh... OH! OH CRAP! HOLY CHEESE GRATERS!" Hancock picked up the signal before his ocu-lenses turned and followed Sanford's eyes.

 ** _whmwhmwhmwhmwhmWHMWHMWHMWHMWHMWHM_**

-Rotary blades.

Shit.

The Deathclaw spun around and went wide-eyed to the three angular shapes that were spreading in an arrowhead formation in the air a bit away from the quarry- it was only another minute or two before those Vertibirds were right on top of them.

"...Merde'." She grumbled. "Not THEM."

"We need to get back inside the quarry." Sanford stated. "NOW."

"I-I..." She was torn. What choice did they have? Braving the possible trap? Or an entire unit of Enclave soldiers with air support? "...F-Fine, FINE! Yes, monsieur'!"

"Tactical retreat! CHECK!" Hancock started to levitate backwards.

"Run!" Sanford barked.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Vertibird 4 was at the head of the formation- with 2 to its left flank, and 3 to its right- it was the only VB-02 in the flight that had the open-topped autocannon conversions done to its flanks, and it was also the lead craft carrying Superintendent Laslar and his squad.

There were ten other men in each Vertibird- including Sergeant Franko and his one man, that meant that once Laslar and his four men hit the ground, and Luft was high- eighteen more soldiers would arrive to reinforce them while the Vertibirds kept the enemy pinned, and Luft had perfect sniping opportunity.

The quarry digsite stopped coming at the nose of the craft as fast- and slowly, the Vertibird's engine modulators howled, the propellers chopped the air in a reverberating pattern, the nose raised and the Vertibird slowed its approach.

The pilot dipped the craft to the right- by the top eastern edge of the quarry's crater- and Sergeant Luft stepped past two of the men in the bay, held onto the side of his flank's respective autocannon. The bay lurched and gravity made him sway in his stance- servo motors hissing in his armor.

He leaned forwards and peered at the several foot drop out of the troop hold's floor ledge- he breathed, gripped his rifle two-handed, and counted to three.

 _...2...3._

-Then he jumped.

 ** _CLLM_**

-The concrete cracked when he sailed through the air for all but two seconds, the whistling stopped, the weightlessness ceased- and a great resistence jolted his legs roughly, but with little discomfort as the armor compensated for the impact.

Luft was on a single knee, boots half-embedded into the concrete court below his heels- with a creak of steel, whining of servos- the Sergeant stood to his full height, and cast dust and shredded gravel from his footwear when he stepped out of the small spider-cracks he'd created.

He adjusted the scope on his rifle, hurried over to the rim of the drop he faced- and looked down into the loading yard at the quarry's lowest level.

He saw them- moving back for a large, ajar doorway into a concrete arch.

A man in Power Armor- a variant that made him edgy- it was a late one, it looked strikingly like one of the Enclave variant X-01 suits he'd seen officers wearing. Up until now, Luft had never seen an X-01 that wasn't in Enclave hands.

This would be interesting.

Luft fell to one knee- the armor hissing- he raised his rifle, and peered through the scope lined with his helmet's lens.

The Deathclaw was an imposing creature- albeit a little shorter than some of the wild ones he'd seen- it was moving back for the arch- faster than he could track it. There was a robot- a pre-War 'Mr. Gutsy'- model that was flying just behind it.

Luft steadied his grip on the rifle.

Easy pickings.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Vertibird 4 swung back sideways when Luft hopped out- the belly reoriented towads the loading yard below- it was a mere few seconds later, that a blaring thud and crack of concrete symbolized the arrival of the Superintentdent.

 ** _CLLM_**

-The Power Armored titan stood half-knelt- and rose with whirring servos, and hissing systems in his customized suit. The refraction field was flickering whimsically over his body, and he had his Plasma Archer raised- and the first thing he leveled it for, was this man garbed in the exoskeleton.

He winced.

It was indeed, an X-01 variant. He was interested to know how this Wastelander had gotten his hands on it. Didn't matter- he'd be dead, and dead men didn't tell tales in his book.

 ** _CLLM_**

 ** _CLLLM_**

 ** _CLM_**

 ** _CLM_**

-All four of his men landed one after the other beside each other in a neat, quad-row. They rose quickly, and aimed Plasma Rifles over their leader's shoulders.

"Spread out! Two left, two right!" Laslar barked- he compressed the trigger of his gun.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Sanford heard a variety of things all at once.

He heard the ozone-like discharge of an energy weapon- a single shot- and as he was sprinting with thudding footfalls towards the archway to the lift chamber they'd abandoned- he glanced quickly to his side, and saw Hancock react to the results of said gunshot.

The robot must have detected whoever had shot at him- because nimbly, Hancock zipped low across the concrete, and a pair of red beams scythed inches over his position- one after the other- and kicked away dust with each miss.

Hancock flew in a U-turn, and hid himself behind the corner of one of the large, rusty shipping containers- and no sooner did he do this did another red beam slack off the container's flank with a flicker of sparks.

 ** _vvvvvvvVVVVVVVMMMM_**

-Sanford knew that sound. It terrified him.

He took a sharp turn in his run- and he ducked behind one of the forklift buggies that was out in the concrete opens- the vehicle shifted when he nudged into it, the tires making a sickly little creak. He breathed heavily, and peered over the seat in the open cab.

A few contrails of flourescent green wavered up from the other side of the forklift- he heard a boiling sound- yet, before he could even BEGIN to process that- the first Vertibird gunship that had swung in- a fully functioning pre-War aircraft- the thing he had been fearing- loomed right there, the cab angled down at him, like it was a giant flying beast looking him in the eye.

He saw an open gunbay- and protruding from its side closer to his angle- there was an Enclave soldier, clad in the mysterious pattern of exo they wore in a standardized fashion. He was seated in a weapons console behind a blastshield- and when Sanford pieced together what the thing was- he almost wet himself.

That was a frikkin' 20' millimeter. This forklift was like tin-foil against that.

"SHIIITTT!" Sanford screamed- jumping to his feet.

 ** _CLAK CLAK CLAK CLAK CLAK CLAK CLAK CLAK_**

-The autocannon barked, and rounds whistled all over the place- the forklift belched clouds of sparks and fiery smoke when tens of rounds punched clean through its chassis and kicked about the concrete.

Sanford rounded the side of a shipping container, and he heard the shrieking of the rounds punching through one side of the steel and rattling about.

He compressed the back of his armor to the container, breathing heavily- he looked down at his SMG and again, was shocked and appalled to its pee-shooter capability here.

He really should've packed his better guns for this adventure.

"SHIT!"

 ** _CLK-SSHHROW_**

-An autocannon round sliced right through the metal near his shoulder pauldron with a lick of sparks and scream of metal- it clattered away off the concrete and fell expended nearby with a hollow ringing.

"HAN'!" Sanford called into his helmet. "I'M PINNED!"

"DON'T WORRY, SIR! HANCOCK TO THE RESCUE!"

-The robot leaned out from the container he was behind, and propped his missile-launcher/flamethrower claw arm around the angular corner, aiming up at the Vertibird above.

"TAKE THIS YOU FLYING NAZIS!"

 ** _SHHSKM_**

-Hancock slipped back behind cover when a single missile barked out from the launcher's barrel, and sailed up into the air, leaving a sooty contrail in its wake.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Laslar advanced right down the middle- without any cover, raising his Tri-Archer for a man he had never before heard of that was running around in a relic from over two-hundred years ago.

The Wastelander was pretty fast for being in that suit- he sprinted clear across the court, ducked behind a forklift before Laslar could line a decent shot- the plasma ate into the vehicle ineffectively. The Superintendent cursed.

The roar of one of Vertibird 4's autocannons hollered right over his position- a wave of dislodged sparks and shranpnel burst out from the buggy that their target was hiding behind- the vehicle imploded with black soot billowing from its undersides in trailing arms for the air above.

"Exo user's breaking cover!" Laslar barked into his communications. "Luft! Get a bead on him!"

" _We got him, sir. We'll flush him out with the autocan-_ " Vertibird 4's pilot sounded quite confident in his statement- but halfway through, the man's speech was cut with a low-sounding gasp, and Laslar heard the craft's engine modulators flare without warning. " _Missile! Missile!_ "

 ** _whmwhmwhmwhmWHMWHMWHM_**

 ** _-_** Laslar instinctively ducked when the Vertibird made an atmospheric shriek. He looked up and saw Vertibird 4 haul backwards with its tail nearly pointing directly towards the ground.

The craft zoomed to its rear exponentially- and dangerously -fast, and right as it did so, a projectile that left a smokey trail in its wake, some kind of missile- sailed past the cockpit by a few inches, whistled across the air overhead, and vanished in an arc right over the quarry's upper level to the beyond.

Vertibird 4's pilot struggled to lower the craft's nose, the propellers screaming, modulators fluctuating- Laslar was afraid the pilot might crash it.

" _Shit! Bank left!_ " -Now it was Vertibird 3's pilot barking into the communications.

Vertibird 3 swung sideways right as 4 rose up its tail and wavered its wings right in the spot its sister craft narrowly vacated.

" _We're good, near miss!_ "

" _Damn straight, near miss! Pull your head out of your ass!_ "

Laslar gave off an exasperated- 'Ugh' -and blink-activated the shutoff rune in his helmet's internal HUD for the communication link. He turned around, and saw that again, the Wastelander was sprinting towards the other end of the quarry- Laslar followed with his gaze, and saw why.

"Vertibird 2, you still sane?"

" _Aye-aye sir._ "

"Nail that archway with a few warheads! Our exo' boy is trying to escape through it!"

" _Affirmative._ "

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Sanford was trying to make a break for the archway door again- the suit was whining and creaking all over the place- he was clenching his teeth, and he flinched everytime he heard another gunshot.

There were at least three or four people that were focusing fire on him- but he was too concerned about getting into the lift chamber of the quarry to hide behind something and attempt to face these soldiers head-on.

He wasn't properly armed for this- not with his little SMG, or his new bolt action, or even the Nukalizer- because he needed to get close to use that weapon.

 ** _wshh-CLK!_**

-"AGH!" Sanford felt a terrible punching sensation on the center back of his suit- there was a metallic sound, that Sanford could only describe as a wobbling noise, like if someone took a giant sheet of aluminum and flapped it in the air once.

He stumbled in his run, boots cracking the concrete- again, he was forced to direct his sprinting to the side- he found another buggy, and crouched behind it with a frustrated grunt. He wasn't exactly fond of this idea seeing what happened to the last one.

Sanford swallowed, and raised his helmet slightly over the cab's driver seat.

 ** _CLMCMM_**

-A blinding beam of red light met his vision for a millisecond. He ducked, and an arm of glowing crimson punched through the air right over his helmet's cranium, and spattered a burn mark and dust on the ground behind him.

Blinking at the stroke of luck- Sanford shivered, and magnetically clamped his SMG to his hip plating, reaching around the other side, and taking up the stock of the bolt action rifle he had snagged off the Mutant last night.

It was fully loaded- all he did was press the safety back.

"...Fuckin' snipers..." Sanford muttered. "I'll show you marksmanship."

One of the Vertibirds erupted in not autocannon fire- but a line of four, repeating, glowing red streams of laser fire that belched out from a quad of rounded cannons underneath its cockpit. They flew about an area not near Sanford's, and from his distance he could hear a reptilian sounding hiss- a LOUD one.

"...Bastards!" Sanford barked- he laid the bolt action's belly against the buggy's seat rim- compressed himself as low as possible, and aimed at the tiny, blackened figure standing dominantly in the light of the day, up all the way at the top of the crater he was trapped in.

Sanford squinted- sneered- and then pulled the trigger.

 ** _CLK_**

-The gun discharged once.

Little to Sanford's knowledge in any detail- Sergeant Luft had just lined up a shot with Sanford's eye lense on his helmet, and his finger was on his sniper rifle's trigger.

 ** _CLLINK_**

-Luft stood straight up when a terrible screech rattled his helmet, and his forehead was given a feeling of impact.

The Sergeant's eyes went wide with brief horror- for a good second he thought he had taken a bullet in the head, that had pierced the helmet- he gasped loudly, and the ground rumbled as the Power Armor indented the concrete beneath him- as Luft fell clean onto his backside.

He dropped his rifle, and when he realized that he was still breathing, and able to comprehend everything around him- he took solace that he hadn't actually been harmed in any meaningful way.

He looked down between his spread, armored ankles- and there on the ground was a flattened, golden round that had hit him squarely in the forehead. His helmet had saved his life.

-Back on the ground, Sanford didn't know nor care if he had actually killed the sniper- the likelihood was low that the guy was down for good with that Power Armor suit he and all his buddies were wearing. That meant he needed to keep running.

He tried something new as he parted from the buggy's flank- he clamped his bolt action back to his hip- pulled out the combat shotgun that he had recovered from the Mutants, and held it ready.

"SANFORD! SIR!" He glanced to his side, and saw Hancock by the large, treaded industrial crane a few feet away- he peered over the rounded rim of the right tread links. "IGUANA-CHOPS GOT SHOT AGAIN!"

"You have stims! Give 'em to her!"

"SIR! HOLY FRIJOLES! LOOK OUUUUTTTTT!"

-"Target sighted! Shoot him!"

Sanford fell back behind the forklift- and right after he did so, a batch of flourescent green wads slapped into the metal on the other side, and inside the cab- metal shrieked and then literally started to bubble into hardening orange distortions.

There were two Enclave soldiers wielding Plasma Rifles- they advanced on him without even considering getting into cover- because they knew if they hit Sanford a few times they could crack the plating.

 ** _CL-M_**

 ** _CL-M_**

 ** _CL-M_**

-Sanford looked up and saw three whitish veins drawing down the sky right overhead, like jet contrails.

The three missiles planted into the top of the concrete arch that he and his buddies had been moving for- and they imploded with a brief lick of flame, plumages of dust and dislodged rock chips. A piece of the archway cracked off, and loudly shattered into a million chunks all about the ground just before the ajar door.

Sanford couldn't even see detail in the doorway anymore for how much dust was everywhere- the Enclave were trying to trap them up here.

"HAN'! COVER ME!" Sanford barked.

"RIGHT-O!"

 ** _CLAK CLAK CLAK CLAK_**

-Plasma fire now flew over Sanford's head from the OTHER direction. He heard the Enclave soldiers call out, and the ground rumbled as the two of them went onto their bellies in the suits- cracking the ground their cuirasses smacked into.

The Enclave soldiers started to aim their rifles up at the buggy again from down there- but Sanford had other plans.

Maybe he was really as fast as people had said he was- he did cover the distance awfully quick- he'd mull on it later, he supposed.

Fact was- Sanford rounded one side of the buggy, and stormed towards the prone soldiers with his shotgun leveled- legs arcing past each other in a sprint.

Sanford fired his gun- and sparks kicked out in a cloud of sorts, all over the helmet and shoulder pauldrons of the soldier on the left- he heard the man scream, and then, without any more time to fire, Sanford repeated an old trick of his.

He reared back his left boot- and kicked the Enclave soldier straight in the face as he made to throw himself to his feet.

 ** _CLLLM_**

-Metal groaned and something cracked. The soldier barked horribly- the earth rumbled when he fell onto his back, the colossal suit of armor noisily giving off the impression that a large piece of metal had fallen, and not a man.

Sanford pressed forwards- his knees rattled the ground on either side of the man's hips- Sanford raised a fist, and brought the gauntlet down right on his opponent's helm face.

 ** _CRKK_**

-The soldier's head snapped back to the ground roughly and quickly- like a ragdoll having its face slapped into a wall by an angry child. Electricity from the Tesla breakers in his modified knuckles coursed all across the cracked facial section of the headgear- the man shook and vibrated beneath him, and didn't offer further resistance- Sanford realized he had electrocuted him.

Seeing the fallen Enclave operative twitching with his arms half raised for him- Sanford sneered, and shoved the barrel of his shotgun into the neck joint of the suit- again, the man's head was jerked to the side- Sanford stuffed the barrel as far as it would go, and pulled the trigger.

 ** _CLK-sshhhSPPLSK_**

-A burst of crimson vomited in a geyser all around the shotgun's nose and in globular traces on all sides of the helmet's neck crease- the soldier obviously went completely still after that, and his gauntlets clattered still onto the concrete on either side of him.

Sanford grunted, and tore the gun free.

"Bastard..." Sanford observed the weird, insectoid-like make of the helmet for a moment.

Sighing, he went to stand.

 ** _CLM-CLM_**

-But someone tackled him from the right.

"-AGH!" Sanford heard concrete cracking and metal screeching- he was flat on his back, and on top of him, raising a strange bladed weapon over his head- was the other Enclave soldier he had shot in the damned face with the shotgun.

The blade that the soldier held had a motor- it roared loudly, like a chainsaw- and Sanford saw that the blade was alive with whirring teeth and a small trail of black smoke hissing from a power pack.

The soldier brought it down in a stabbing motion for the very area Sanford had used his shotgun on to kill the last foe- the neck joint.

"NNOOO!" Sanford barked- he grabbed the soldier's wrist, and soon the two of them were screaming- Sanford with both gauntlets around his one, and the Enclave soldier use both of his to force the revving chain blade downwards.

The weapon stayed in its place as neither party could completely overpower the other- Sanford eventually stopped his vocals, bunched up his legs, and then forced his ankles upwards.

 ** _CLM-CLM_**

-Both armored limbs clashed off the soldier's back and rear helmet- the man hollered, and Sanford used the momentum of his enemy tossing forwards for his face- he angled his body to the side, and the Enclave soldier fell next to him.

The earth shook violently- the soldier broke his fall with his forearm, and still held the chain weapon in a weaker grasp- trying to stab downwards again. Sanford didn't allow it- and his enemy was in such a precarious angle, that he reached up, and tore the blade free from the soldier's fingers.

 ** _CLM_**

-Sanford was on his heels, kicked the man right in the face. Mr. Tobs didn't even wait for it to be evident if the guy was still struggling- he bent down and jammed the still screaming chain weapon into the man's neck joint.

Sparks became drowned in cascading, darkened crimson- the Enclave man's screams bubbled away and his hands were soon clenching for his own throat instead of Sanford's. The body flailed for another minute before the chain blade stalled, and wetly bubbled as Sanford saw it vanish under the helmet to the hilt.

He tried to tug it free- couldn't -and tore away from the corpse with a rustling of steel. He stumbled back and picked up his shotgun.

"Wastelander!"

Sanford spun back towards the dead he had produced- and standing over them, was the largest, most imposing Enclave soldier he had seen thus far.

The man was garbed in some customized variant from the basic suits- there were generator towers along his shoulder pauldrons, and even on the back section of his cuirass, and Sanford could see a ghostly aura flickering in and out of perception around his body.

"...H-Hey, man..." Sanford mumbled. "How are ya'?"

"Where'd you get the suit, kid?" The soldier grumbled in a deep, rocky voice.

"...Found it."

"Hm. Fair enough."

-Then Laslar shot him.

 ** _CLKSCM_**

-A trio of armor-piercing Plasma ate right into Sanford's center cuirass.

 ** _CRRSK!_**

Steel shrieked, and Sanford stumbled back, leaving a swimming trail of green that bubbled from the breached plating of his armor.

 ** _++++WARNING++++_**

 ** _+++EXTERNAL COMPROMIZATION+++_**

 ** _++++WARNING++++_**

-Sanford felt an unbearable heat gathering near his physical chest inside the suit- he saw his HUD flickering with bouts of static, and the big Enclave soldier stood there observing gleefully.

"Nothing personal, kid."

"-F-FUCK YOU!"

"Ah-ha."

Laslar shot him again.

 ** _CRRSK!_**

 ** _CLSM_**

 ** _SSSSSSSSS_**

-Some pipe inside the suit broke, it hissed, and Sanford felt a terrible pain breach into his chest- it was like a frying pan was being hovered just above his skin.

"AAGH!" Sanford barked, backpeddling away from his attacker with more green energy trailing through the air from the melting breach on his suit's breast. "-AAH! AH-GOD-FUCK!"

"SANFORD!"

-The third voice cried out, and Superintendent Laslar's smile was shot right off his face, and he didn't even have time to react before he saw a towering, blindingly fast blur of scales and fangs appear in his vision.

Right before the finality- he laughed loudly.

"Been awhile, my subject!"

 ** _BMM_**

-The Deathclaw shoulder checked him right in the center of his cuirass.

Superintendent Laslar sailed a foot away, and vanished into the already bullet-riddled hull of a forklift buggy- that indented right down the middle, and burst into a small mushroom cloud of fiery soot with a deafening blast.

Sanford was still trying to steady himself, and he was still cursing in pain- he felt a shove, and glanced up from where he had been examining his damaged armor in horror.

The Deathclaw stood there- yellow eyes wide, claws over his shoulder pauldrons- he looked down and saw three blackened, cautorized gashes going down her ribs on her right side, the scales gray, black and dead.

"-O-Oh shit-!"

"No time, monsieur'! RUN!"

The two of them staggered back towards the still standing, damaged archway to the quarry's lift chamber.

"SIR! IGUANA-CHOPS! KEEP SPRINTING!" Hancock called over- he had flown inside the archway- and Plasma shots passed the two of them as he pinned another cluster of six or seven Enclave soldiers that rounded the side of a shipping container.

Sanford heard one of the Vertibird crews firing an autocannon- he saw Hancock fly to cover behind the concrete of the arch right as he and the Deathclaw passed underneath it, and a cluster of laser shots from above hammered into the ground in their wake.

"-SHUT THE DOOR!" Sanford screamed.

Hancock flew over to the un-hinged end of the entry- ignoring a round that grazed completely through the side of his chassis, and left a stringing, thin trench of sparking darkness.

Together, he clenched his claw, and Sanford wrapped his fingers- they shoved the door with a giant creak of metal- and the industrial sized entry swung in a motion for closing- more autocannon rounds punching into the steel of its layered plates.

 ** _CLMCK_**

-The door kicked dust everywhere from all the concrete around it- and it was horribly loud echoing through the large chamber behind them. If it weren't for their night-vision filters- they wouldn't have been able to see in the dark of the chamber when daylight was abruptly cut off.

"We need to seal it!" Sanford shouted- gritting his teeth still from the burning pain in his chest. "Use your Plasma!"

"On it, sir!"

Hancock sprayed the hinges with a few concentrated bursts of green blobs- they smacked about, and Sanford could already hear the sizzling of melting metal.

He stood still, heaving heavily- and for the first time in the scene, there was a resounding quiet- disturbed only by the distant howls of Vertibird engines.

Sanford quaked in place, and Hancock looked with uncertainty at him, and then back at the door.

...Nothing.

No shouts. No gunfire.

Nothing.

"...OhthankGod..." Sanford collapsed on his backside with a rumbling echo- he leaned his head back and breathed out with a blast of air.

"...I think we got away, sir." Hancock said factually after a moment.

"Yeah... Yeah I think so..."

"...Monsieur'... Help..."

"Wha'? SHIT! HAN'! GET OVER HERE!"

She was knelt over, and she had a claw wrapped over the cauterized burns on her ribs- there were two new ones across her center back, between the shoulders- she'd been hit when they got in the doorframe.

Sanford clambered to his feet, and rushed over despite whirring protests from his suit, and flaring pain from his chest. He hung over her back, and put his gauntlets near the newer wounds to examine them- he made a panicked sound, and dug into the rucksack over his thigh.

Hancock zoomed over, and had a stimulation injection clasped in his claw- he handed it to Sanford, who took it with a tiny- 'Thanks' -flicked off the cap cover, and slowly stuck the needle inbetween the two blackened wounds.

She made a hissing sound, and he waited until the injection ran dry, before he took it out, threw it away, and took another offered from Hancock's claw.

"-Do you feel lightheaded? Weak? Can you not move anything?" Sanford rambled to her. "Tell me!"

"...Hurts like... HELL, monsieur'... AH!"

"Sorry!"

He took out the last needle, and waited shortly until he saw some of the black scales start to become loose on her- like flaking skin. That meant the stims were working. Good.

"Hey, hey-" Sanford wheeled around to her front, where saw her face contorted in pain- she un-gripped her ribs, and put a palm over his pauldron- **_CLM_** \- "-Tell me what else is wrong, c'mon."

"Flesh wound." She said through gritted fangs. "Damned, FLESH WOUND."

"Okay-okay, just don't move... Give the stims a minute."

"Yes, monsieur'..."

"Oh my God, I-I'm so sorry- I-"

"...We should've taken the lift... I'm sorry."

"You couldn't have known!"

"...Still..."

"No-no, just... No... It's not your-AGH!"

"...Monsieur'?"

"-HM-Nothing."

"...You're hurt too. Usiner'... USINER'."

"Wha-?! San' of the -ford is hurt?! BOJANGLES! NOT COOL!" Hancock flew over and handed him another stim, to which Sanford shook his head- and stepped away from the two of them.

The suit parted open, making a sickly creak- Sanford stumbled out from behind it, his combat plate breast piece burned right across its middle- the ceramics malformed and the paint melted away.

Hancock was over in an instant- he tore off the armor, dropped it to the side, and examined Sanford's shirt right underneath it with his ocu-lenses.

"Bad burn. Second degree, partial." The robot reported as Sanford took the stim injection from him, and stuck it in his arm, wincing at the pinch.

"...God damn it..." He looked down and followed Hancock's gaze- and there on his chest was a branching red, and moist-appearing wound that was littered with blisters already. "...Ugh..."

"Monsieur'?" The Deathclaw gasped- on her feet, and shouldering past Hancock- Sanford looked at her with a raised brow.

"...I thought you were keeled over, tootse?"

"I'll live." She said, sniffing towards the burn on his chest. "Oh, Sanford..."

"It's fine, I've gotten worse..."

"He's gotten worse!" -Hancock added.

"-It just hurts like a bitch..."

"I know the feeling, monsieur'."

"How are you holding up, Han'?"

"Nothing critical. Glanced by a 20'." Hancock reported.

"And there's NOTHING critical?" Sanford asked, shocked.

"Nope! The Han' lives! The Sanford lives! NEUT-NUGGETS LIVES! HOO-RAH!" Hancock cried out triumphantly, only to have his two companions glare. "-So, we're plotting revenge now, right? NO ONE SHOOTS THE TEAM OF DESTRUCTION AND LIVES TO BRAG ABOUT IT!"

"...Are you okay?" Sanford reached up and rubbed his hands over both of her knuckles as she gripped his shoulders.

"Fine." She grumbled.

"That was close."

"Too close, mon ami'."

"...Well, the good news is, we at least know we can fight them. We just need better-"

 ** _CLM_**

 ** _clmclcmlcmlcmlcmclcmlcmlcmlcmlcm_**

-They all turned around, and Hancock aimed his Plasma gun at the echoing mechanics coming from the pit drop behind them.

The empty lift clattered still, and waited for them once more, menacingly.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	33. Chapter 33

**CHAPTER 33**

 **Depths of the Mind.**

* * *

Laslar had been hurt a number of times- more times than he could really count- and all of them had been extraordinary examples of absolutely insanely caused and resulting events.

Laslar had gotten the worst of his injuries, ironically- while he had been active for the Enclave in his Power Armor suit. The exo' made him more daring, more willing to run out into danger or face things head on- whereas before, in the west, he used a lot of stealth before claiming the kill.

Laslar looked at it as all the years of pent up rage still excercising themselves all this time later- now that he had an ablity to deal such destruction he used it at will.

He had been grazed by bullets, burned by laser fire, glanced with shrapnel, and he'd broken a few bones over his career in the Enclave- whereas in Texas, he really didn't suffer that many grievous injuries that a stim or two didn't fix.

With the greater power and the greater abilities, he supposed greater danger was always present, thus, greater risk.

So as he climbed out of the burning wreckage of the forklift buggy- steel screaming as his gauntlets shoved at the ragged metal beneath him, and the armor ploughed right through it- he was reminded briefly to Texas, the time before the modern him.

Because the hit and fall hadn't even scratched him.

Having relieved himself of the precarious tumble- the flames didn't extend to his suit outside a few scorched dulls to the already dark plating- and no other damage was present visibly on the exterior or even interior.

A few systems got rattled, but those would just reorient on their own. Though Laslar had to admit, his former genetic experiment certainly packed a punch.

He hadn't seen the creature in around a decade- and now that it was fully grown, he had to say he was impressed with his own work alongside those morality-tied scientists rounded up from the NCR, even if he had executed all of them.

The Deathclaw was a prime specimen- and she was strong too, sent him flying even in his suit.

Taking headcount, Laslar was angered greatly at the beast's escape- he was baffled to how it had even happened.

"Air support, heavy weapons, numerical superiority, and we couldn't pin them!" Laslar ranted to Luft when he finally reached the ground level of the quarry after ten minutes of climbing down. "Two men dead."

"Saw the sig's go dark." Luft grumbled. "Your boy's a pretty good marksman."

"...Ugh..." Laslar didn't hear him at first- he turned and gave orders through the communication link. "Someone pull up the fucking schematics of this dump. One Vertibird at each tunnel entrance and exit- if there's more openings than 'birds, message HQ for the rest of the fleet."

"Sir?"

"What?!" Laslar barked when Luft persisted.

"I said that this man we're after is damned good," Luft snapped. "He hit me right in the head with a projectile rifle. I don't think it had a scope."

"...He killed our two losses in close combat, too."

"Laslar, ever think it might be possible that we've come across a good soldier outside the Brotherhood or California?"

"...If he's professional, we just need to cut him off from the 'Claw. The subject attacked me, when I attacked the exo' guy." Laslar sighed. "I think Hector was right- the Deathclaw and this man are allies."

"Well how do we flush them out of the tunnels? I doubt it would be feasible to try and starve them out," Luft reasoned. "We don't have the time or the power to let an entire quarter of a division besiege some old quarry."

"No... But,"

"But?"

"I'm gonna' call HQ, have them send over that VB-130 we saw on the roof."

"What is that going to do for us? They're underground, Las'."

Overhead, one of the Vertibirds screamed right past the quarry dig's mouth above- the craft was moving for one of the other exit tunnels that the schematics shown, and Laslar was at least pleased to see the pilots could handle a simple relocation mission.

"Upload the schematics to my HUD, over?" " _Affirmative._ " "-And Luft, yes it WILL help us. I'm gonna' blow this door open, and then I'm gonna' have that gunship fire a napalm shell right through the arch."

Laslar lined up his fingers and pointed them straight down the center indication of the great metal door, now pock-marked with holes from the autocannons chewing it up.

"...What if they're already deeper inside?"

"Then that'll trap them. I'll burn out the entire quarry if I have to."

"And if you kill the 'Claw? Eden's not going to offer you solace."

"...And he isn't offering anything even if I bring the 'Claw back in one piece," Laslar reminded. "This is just a diversion, Sergeant. It gives me time."

"For what precisely?"

"Revolution, my friend."

"...I don't know whether to be afraid or hopeful."

"Both."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Sanford was examining Hancock a bit more now that they were relatively sealed away from the Enclave- he looked about his chassis and found the gash that had been made from the 20' millimeter, and he also found another gash that had been made by laser fire.

Sanford made the mistake of not asking specifics about that particular damage- because, falsely assuming it was from a few minutes ago in that firefight- Hancock was the only one who knew it had come from the Assaultron he had left out in the hills earlier yesterday.

Reminding himself of that- he watched idly as Sanford rummaged around in one of the gashes, and sprayed sealent foam he took out from his rucksack's front pouch. Hancock had all three ocu-lenses bowed to judge the makeshift repair job with a flurry of commentary.

"You missed a spot, naive'!"

"I can't spray into that, that's one of the coolent lines- which, I'm amazed wasn't severed."

"I'm the HAN'! Can't take me out with some pussy-ass twenty'!"

"Uh-huh. I have some serious work to do when we get home... I gotta' fix you, I gotta' fix this stupid suit... Oh, lord."

"You'll do it, sir! You always do it!"

"If you say so, man."

Sanford sat back on the concrete and put the spray bottle he had been using away- sighing at Hancock's rattled hide.

The robot slowly lifted from the ground where he had been put down after Sanford was done- he patted around his damaged areas with his claw, and made an appreciative grunt.

"Thanks again, my mechanic slave!"

"Yep. Run along now."

"I'm off to play on the swingset!"

"We don't have one of those, Han'."

"Imagination, sir!"

"Mental incapicitation, Hancock."

"Shut your flappin' lips!"

"Mmhmm."

Sanford slipped the rucksack shut and placed it on the ground behind him- leaning the back against the still-standing, opened suit of Power Armor that stood behind him.

It was interesting, the suit had literally saved his life several times over the last few days- and here it was standing over him, the helmet angled down to dote on his cranium- like a guardian angel, Sanford hadn't even realized until now.

He peered upwards at the bug-like appearance of the X-01's helmet- blackened from heat, still wavered with some roach gunk- Sanford minded that last note, squinted, and raised his arm over his head before giving his pit a brief whiff.

"-Ack! Oh, CHRIST." He put his arm down and shut his eyes. "Hey, Han'?"

"Sir?" The robot was hanging out by the still lift that had risen for them earlier again- he turned a single ocu-lense to face behind himself.

"You think we have enough water for me to take a damned bath at home?"

"Well, seeing as you reek like death's used gym sock, I'd say we can MAKE it enough."

"Thanks, a whole bunch, yep."

"Don't thank me, Sir-Stench, thank mother nature!"

Sanford stood up, and he felt about his chest with a few pats against his bare skin- the torn fringes of his shirt's hide.

The burn was starting to go away, and the blisters were repugnantly trailing themselves empty in glistening slicks down his chest to his belly- he grimaced and further got that feeling that over the last few days he had been absolutely filthified.

He saw the Deathclaw leaning against the concrete wall of the chamber towards his rear- she was dragging her nails between two others on the opposite claw, one at a time- scraping all the scabbed mess she had acquired on them over the past day and half.

Sanford stretched his legs until he heard a joint crack- and rolled both arms at the shoulder individually.

He was thankful he had been able to sleep last night- the rest was absolutley essential- he had been hurt, but now that the stimulation injections were helping him, he felt ready to go again- if not a little thirsty.

"Hey," He nodded at her and stepped past the inactive suit of armor. "What are you doing?"

"Filing, monsieur'." She blinked at him, and resumed her activity- drawing the black girth of her right center finger's nail between two pinched claws from the left hand.

 ** _ssssSSH-SK!_**

-Then she brought it up, turned her hand about, and brought the same finger to continue filing from other angles.

"Women and their nails," Sanford chuckled. "It's amazing. It even transcends species."

"That's because females are smarter than you apish hommes'," She smiled at him. "We know to look nice all the time, monsieur'."

"Wow."

"Mmhm."

"Does that rule apply to Deathclaw- how'd you say it? -'Hommes'-?"

"It indeed does."

"They don't keep their claws clean?"

"They use their teeth."

"Ugh! Nasty!"

"See? Men, hmph'."

"It's even more funny hearing it from you."

"Only to humans."

"Only to humans, yes."

"So what's the plan, mon ami'?"

Sanford glanced over his pauldron to Hancock- who was still failing in getting his scans to function properly by the drop's edge back there.

"We need to take the lift."

"Sur'."

"We need to take a chance with whatever, or whoever is down there."

"Mm."

"-I just- for all we know, it could be nothing. There could be a motion sensor that picks up us moving around, or..."

"We'll figure it out, Sanford." She said, unfolding from the wall and stalking past him with a flashed grin. "We gain nothing by standing here."

"She's right, Han', let's go," Sanford called over her to the robot. "I'll suit up."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Laslar narrowed his eyes at the distant little speck that now hovered in place several miles above- so small from the distance, that it looked the size of a pebble.

It was utterly silent- and he waited patiently for the pilot of the VB-130 to lock his aiming reticule on the coordinates given.

" _Alright, sir. We have the entry centered._ "

"Good." Laslar took an instinctive step back, further behind one the shipping containers that he peered around to view the door on the opposite end of the court- six Enclave soldiers, and Sergeant Luft, stood behind him in a gathered group. "Fire at will. AP."

" _AP, roger. Firing._ "

 ** _bm_**

-From so high up, the cracking noise that the Gauss Mortar on the Vertibird's flank made was still audible as a tiny boom.

A second later, the door made a shrieking grind as a flash of brief blue light from the energy-powered shell smacked onto the lower side of the entryway's frame- casting chunks of concrete, dust, and sparks all over the place in a gathering mist.

"Adjust aim by 2, up." Laslar grunted into the communications.

" _Adjusted. AP. Firing._ "

 ** _bm_**

 ** _CRRSSKKK!_**

-The door popped open right down the middle like a split tin-can. Blackened shrapnel tossed about in great heaping chunks, concrete cracked, and dust overtook effective details over the entire arch as it crept from the shell's destructive power.

"Door's down, switch up for N-B' round."

" _Affirmative. Napalm incoming._ "

 ** _bm_**

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

"Sir, I can't detect a THING down there! It's just whacked!" Hancock said angrily as Sanford stood between the two ajar gates that lead to the lift's beginning chin.

"We'll have to see for ourselves..." He sighed. "Wish me luck."

Hancock levitated by the console they had been playing with earlier- he'd dug through his technical records and had been able to pin a General Atomics console he had interacted with exactly six years ago- seeing as Han' could pull out any physical memory in his dumps and recall it perfectly.

He found the proper circuit connections- and he found the proper lift-control button- it, ironicaly, was a big BLUE button, below the red one that had earned him his systamatic slap from before.

So Hancock kept his claw over it- and he watched carefully as the lift rattled in a hollow bought of clattering steel- and Sanford flinched when he put his right boot onto the platform.

 ** _SSHK_**

 ** _SKSK_**

 ** _SK_**

-The lift plat didn't physically appear to shift around all that much, but the noise made Sanford stop in his tracks, and he gazed through his helmet's lenses at the pylons on either side of him- moving his eyes with his head paralyzed like the rest of his body.

There was a moment of silence, and he huffed, and raised his second boot.

 ** _SHHK_**

-The platform whined a bit.

 ** _BM BM_**

 **-** Two hollow thuds as Sanford's boots stepped twice over the platform's middle section.

The Power Armored man stood in the center of the plat, and he glanced both ways, and then down at his own heels.

He noticed a small panel on the lift's left flank- it was silvery with a red step-button on it- he assumed that was what workers had to press for it to go down without using the console.

He looked up, blinked, and waited.

"...Well, at least it isn't booby trapped."

"Ha! Ha-ha... BOOBIES."

"Grow up, Han'!"

"I'm not sure I understand, monsieur'." The Deathclaw squinted.

"Let's keep it that way," Sanford grunted, motioning for Hancock. "Fly over here, you freak."

"CHARGE!" Hancock flew right over the railing beside the console, and levitated next to Sanford on the lift- his thruster screaming once, and then settling for a continuous flame beneath him. "How are ya', sir?"

"Just dandy."

"Perfect!"

"Alright, Ms. Deathclaw, on we go."

The Deathclaw looked at Sanford, and then down at the lift that she was literally only a step away from being on herself.

All the not-so-right feelings she had gotten from before were coming back, and, against her own judgment- she sighed and raised her one clawed foot- she pressed forwards with the toe, and tapped the metal plat by Sanford's boot.

"Mmmm..." She hummed in annoyance. "I don't like lifts, monsieur'..."

"Would you prefer to jump?" Sanford shrugged. "I suppose that could work too. Hope you don't mind being a splat on the floor, though."

"OOO! Can I throw her, sir?!"

"...Don't speak." Sanford grumbled.

"Unbelievable! I can never have FUN anymore..."

"C'mon, dear, let's get this over with."

The Deathclaw sighed for a millionth time- nodded her head, and found herself swallowing as she stepped one heel onto the lift.

 ** _SSHK_**

 ** _-BMMMM!_**

"-MERDE'!" She yipped- leaping back from the lift- she looked on, horrified, and saw Sanford and Hancock still there with looks of startled confusion about their stances. "M-Monsieur'? What was that?"

"Oh shit." Sanford pointed to behind her.

She spiraled around.

The shriek of steel had come from the door they had shut in the Enclave's face- it looked like a giant had kicked the underside of it- it was dented inwards, and the ground was blackened and cracked just underneath the sliver of light now coming in from outside.

Dust and smoke were everywhere- the door moaned as its moorings started to crack.

"Get on the lift! Hurry!" Sanford barked. "C'mon!"

The Deathclaw cursed again- and both he and Hancock were forced to steady themselves more towards the rear of the lift when she scrambled on in a flurry of scales and her sweeping tail.

"Han'! There's a button!" Sanford pointed to the small panel on the lift's western edge. "Push it!"

"I don't have any legs! HEELLLPP!"

"YOU IDIO- Ugh, GOD, Deathclaw! Help me out here!"

She stepped over past the screaming robot, raised her clawed heel, and brought it down on the button with an echoing thwack against the metal.

 ** _CLAK_**

- ** _WHHMMMM_**

 ** _ckcklcklcklcklcclclkclcklckclkclckclkclckclcklck_**

-Sanford steadied himself when the elevator bucked, and then, he felt a slight weight pushing into the top of his head. He saw the concrete chin of the platform rising higher and higher- and his view of the door ahead was getting darker and cut off from the rising floor.

The Deathclaw glanced up right when another scream of metal echoed through the chamber-

 ** _CCRRSSHHH!_**

 ** _BMM_**

-Light from outside flooded in a great cone right over their heads as the lift descended into the shadows of the drop they had been fearing entering.

All three heroes had their eyes locked on the illumination that was coarsing in from outside- they expected a row of humanoid shadows to lean over the fall's ledge- and then, maybe a flurry of plasma fire coming down at them.

But whilst the lift clattered and rumbled, and the gears bringing it down the toothed pylons rattled- they saw no one, and they saw no other things that could present the Enclave storming into the chamber above.

The concrete kept passing upwards in front of them, and soon, the light was faintly above.

The Deathclaw was breathing so heavy that Sanford could hear it as a slight whisper over the lift's mechanics- he glanced at her, and then he looked at Han', who was also shockingly quiet- with all three ocu-lenses presented up.

Sanford reaffirmed his gaze to the light- craning his neck inside the helmet- he didn't dare speak, and niether did his friends.

Sanford took a step backwards- quickly glanced down at the blackness behind them to the drop that the lift was lowering them into- he saw through the night vision filters the ground below- a dirt canal, surrounded on both sides by concrete walls and plats.

They were so close to the bottom, it was anguishing.

"Han', your scans working yet?" Sanford whispered.

"Negatory!" The robot hissed- perhaps with too much effort at keeping his voice in a mockery of organic whispering. "They got worse!"

"...Shit."

 ** _wwssshhhHHHHHM-_**

 ** _BMMM_**

-It felt like an earthquake rocked the lift.

They heard a shell soar in, and impact the concrete of the platform above- the cone of light was briefly flickered to darkness, and then, to Sanford's horror- it was reborn, brighter, and tinted AMBER.

"What the hell...?"

...

... ** _fwmmmmmmm-_**

 ** _BBBBBBMMMMMMMMMMM_**

-A tsunami of broiling black mixed with pulsating magma flooded down towards them like liquid- the wall of flame and soot was so big, that it was nearing the far opposite wall of the huge dome chamber that was behind them on the other side of the pit.

"HHOOOLLLYYYY PYRO-FUCKING-TECHNIIICCCCSSS!" Hancock screamed at the top of his vocal emitters.

"NAPALM!" Sanford cried- he reached over, flung his gauntlets over both of the Deathclaw's shoulders- where she gasped at the sudden contact. "JUMP!"

Sanford hugged her mid-section- shoved her closer to himself, and heaved with a cry of effort as he balanced her pelvis against his hip-section.

Sanford shoved off the lift with all his might- steel creaking, jointing holwing in the suit as he compensated for the Deathclaw's weight.

He heard a whistling outside his helmet- he no longer had a grounding beneath his heels- and that same darned awful sensation of falling, the pit in his stomach, the tightness in his chest- it all came back as he plummeted a full story to the ground below.

 ** _BMMMWCHH_**

-Sanford landed hard.

Dust flew all around him as he pile-drived into the dirt ground at the foor of the chamber- he clambered around painfully inside the suit- whose internal padding and stabilization systems saved him from breaking half the bones in his body.

Seeing stars from the back of his head bouncing inside the helm- he blinked his eyes open slowly, and saw that the Deathclaw was frozen on top of him- arms still extended upwards, eyes wide in shock- she stuttered on something she wanted to say.

Sanford shifted underneath her- and she forgot whatever it was- she slithered off of him in a quick movement- her tailbone hurting her from where Sanford's hips had broken her own results of the impact he suffered.

"Monsieur'! Get up!"

"SIR! WE GOTTA' RUN LIKE THE DEVIL!" Hancock flew right past them- leaving an upkicked path of dust in his wake.

The Deathclaw's jaw dropped at this, and she reached down and clasped both of Sanford's gauntlets- she helped him stand with the suit groaning and creaking.

Right above them, the rolling wave of blackened flame engulfed the lift pylons- and the lift platform itself vanished as it got closer down to them.

"R-RUN! RUN!" Sanford stuttered.

Man and Deathclaw sprinted down the dirt way that had been behind them- arms arcing, legs moving speedily- they passed a dirt-dusted, blackened forklift buggy, and a pile of metal beams that still was hogtied with rope after two-hundred years,

 ** _BMMMM-wwHhhhhhhhmm_**

-The oxygen starved napalm swam over the metal basing of the lift- it washed over the entire end of the tunnel they had fallen into- and as Sanford and the Deathclaw ran for where Hancock had gone to- it continued to bunch after them in roiling motions of blackness and fire.

"ARCHWAY!" Sanford belted. "JUMP IN IT!"

-Straight ahead of them a triangular, blocky concrete arch- a smaller one than the one above, was present, and on the other side of it lay more shadows for them to brave. But better to brave the dark than napalm.

They stomped up a stone ramp that lead up to the arch- which was dug and built straight into a rising vein of pure soil that breached the suddenly ended division of the stone walls on either side of the passage.

Sanford ran through it, and right beside him was his reptilian friend- they both managed three steps into the shadows, before, much to their chagrin- they were falling again.

"-AAAGGGHHH-!" **_BMM_** -"-AGH!"

Sanford's scream was cut off in his throat as he rattled against the concrete floor- face down- and lay there in a defeated sprawl of his armored limbs.

He heard the whooshing of flame, cracking stone- and without his actually seeing it- a tentacle of fire belched out once from the archway just above them, and then soot licked out in its stead of finality.

Cinders crackled lightly in the air- and soon, the rushing of fire subsided, the screeching of heated metal ceased, and the flickering of breaking rock halted.

In the darkness of this new chamber- Sanford lay on the floor, breathing tightly- waiting for the discomfort in his aching body to subside. He heard his suit whining a bit as he shifted on the ground- he groaned in pain.

"...Ooooh... Can I, like... Go a single day without falling on my fuckin' face...?"

"OH, so you've arrived!" Sanford raised his helm, and saw Hancock laid out on the concrete just ahead of him- where he too had fallen out of the archway and clambered onto the lower level.

The robot had a single ocu-lense raised over himself, and he waved dumbly with his buzzsaw when Sanford glared.

"...You have a hover-engine... You CAN'T fall, Han'..."

"Aerodynamics are for women!"

"...Jesus... D-Deathclaw? Where are you?"

Sanford rose onto his gauntlets as his palms ground against the concrete- he looked to his left and saw her sitting up on the ground right next to him, shaking her head vigorously.

She mumbled a profane series of curses in French- and she turned around on the floor to face him- her tail swinging slowly in angry flicks behind her legs.

"I'm fine..." She growled, rubbing her chin with a clenching hand. "Are you hurt?"

"Nope. Got shook around, but I'm alright."

"EVEN NAPALM CAN'T KEEP US DOWN! HOLY FUCK-MUFFINS!" Hancock cheered from the ground.

"Ssh!" Sanford snapped- looking upwards and examining around whatever space they had fallen into this time around.

The archway they had tumbled through was a few feet raised from ground level in the concrete wall around it behind them- the sides and roof of a singular passage were on all sides of them- mismatched clutter of rectangular and square cuts of concrete.

The shattered ruins of a metal staircase were rusting in a pile just beneath the chin of the archway- that was why they had fallen, and why the arch was so raised from the concrete floor in this section.

Sanford hummed to it, and turned back to look over where Hancock was just collecting himself off the floor.

The tunnelway extended for a good amount straight ahead- there were tiny wisps of mist that swirled on the concrete flooring all around them and down the tunnel- and it was eerily silent. There were some scratches against the concrete, thuds, and Sanford stood himself up.

"...We're here, I guess..." He mumbled, reaching down, clenching the Deathclaw's fingers and helping her up. "...Han', your scanners working? Mine aren't."

 ** _WSHM_**

-The robot shot back up to his normal levitating status without even a semblance of what had priorly happened- he shook his chassis and dislodged some pebbles from the joints and recesses.

"Nope!" He happily reported. "Blinder than Batman getting flashed by the Joker!"

"...That's really nasty, Han'." Sanford chuckled.

"DISGUSTING!"

"I suppose we have to go forwards," Sanford glanced back at the soot-scorched concrete frame of the archway behind them. "No turning back."

"At least I excel in close-quarters, monsieur'," The Deathclaw flexed her fingers. "Certains' confort' , au moins'."

"I have little to no clue whatever it was that you just said... But we have a date, with ADVENTURE!" Hancock jabbed his Plasma gun towards the dark tunnel ahead. "ONWARDS!"

"Calm your shit, man! Wouldn't it be bad if we ran into a group of people who KNEW we were coming, because you were screaming your bolts off?"

"Not EXACTLY, sir..." Hancock rolled his lenses. "...That would mean we could get into a gigantic, bloody firefight with masses of foolish mortal foes! COVERED IN THE GORE OF OUR ENEMIES! THE BATTERED SURVIVORS WOULD FLEE BEFORE US FOR THEIR WHORE-BAG MOTHERS! AHAHAHAHA!"

"...Are you done?"

"Quite so!"

"Good, let's move."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

The tunnel that they followed eventually broke off into two directions of another passage that was physically identical to it- the shadows of the misty way were broken in an illuminated bubble at this intersection- an old work lantern that, oddly, remained lit.

The entire time Sanford, Hancock, and the Deathclaw had been trudging down this darkened way- they hadn't gotten any kind of indication to anything out of the ordinary- for as ordinary as an abandoned quarry tunnel could get.

But when the two of them stepped over a bevel in the concrete, and Hancock levitated next to them- Sanford at least, found his eyes complaining against the sudden bulb of light.

"...Is that a lantern?" He mumbled.

"Looks like it, sir." Hancock's thruster hissed, and he swung past Sanford's flank as he stepped down the raised plat of stone.

"Just be careful, Han', you remember the light fixtures in that RobCo plant?"

"Most creative use of explosives I've ever seen! I admire those chumps... Even if they're all dead!"

"What are you talking about, monsieur'?" The Deathclaw asked when Hancock reached one of the ledges on the blocky concrete wall of the tunnel- zoomed an ocu-lense closer to a little, metal work lantern placed on the stone.

"One time me and Han' found a bounty hunter group that was shooting at us for a good while-"

"-EXACTLY A WEEK! I COUNTED!"

"-Yeah, what he said. We broke into their little hideout, and they hid live grenades in some of the light fixtures- Han' went to turn one on, and a frag' just rolled out."

"I screamed like a school-girl! Ah-ha!"

"That he did."

"Sounds... Entertaining?" The Deathclaw sighed. "What is that light?"

"A lantern I think..." Sanford stepped over and nudged past Hancock- looking at a rounded, tower-tall work lantern that had its handle draped over its flank, and was lit as bright as ever in the dark mists of the tunnel. "...Who the hell is in these tunnels?"

"Could it be more highwaymen, monsieur'?" The Deathclaw tried. "Or maybe just regular humans?"

"Like settlers? Nah, we would've known. Maybe they're just travelers... Or maybe they passed through and aren't here anymore." Sanford cocked his head, and tapped the side of the lantern's middle glass bulb with his finger.

"I'm tellin' ya', sir! This has BOOGEY-MAN, written all over it! All over it I tell you!"

"You really need to stick a plunger in your vocal emitter, okay?"

"Lick engine-coolant!"

"You both are right, though, this is weird. Quarry's been out for two-hundred years, and we find a lit lantern? A still working lift?"

They passed the lantern and kept going into the tunnel.

It was contrastingly silent in comparison to the crazed firefight they had experienced not too long ago- Sanford could still kind of feel the adrenaline draining from his system, like a leaking faucet- even now.

The Enclave were no joke.

Though, as a branching change of subject- Sanford felt more and more... BOTHERED, the longer he stepped through this tunnel.

All he had wanted to do was look around, get a good idea of what this place was all about- and that stemmed from his curiosity to the Haven Corporation overall. But this had turned into something completely different and worse off- technically, they were trapped down here until they found an exit.

But on top of the stress he felt for an escape, and the very real possibility that the Enclave was encircling the quarry and cutting off their ways of exiting...

Something felt...Off.

The place was just weird- it should have, bluntly- been a breeding ground for all kinds of crap. Molerats, giant bugs, Feral Ghouls or even a group of highwaymen... And yet, with all this space and all this vacancy, the Haven digsite remained empty.

It was weird- Sanford didn't know how else to express it- there was something, just, really, OFF, about this place.

Like it was... Something. And it sounded stupid because the only two words he could get in his head to describe it were- 'Something' -and- 'Off'- but that's all he could scrounge up.

The quarry was off- there was something off, he thought it once more.

"Hey, are you getting this eerie feeling too?" Sanford nodded at the Deathclaw as they trotted beside the other down the passage.

"An- 'Eerie' -feeling, monsieur'?" She asked, raising an eye ridge. "...I suppose?"

"Well, be honest, even if it's small and doesn't mean anything to you," He angled his helm about to glance around the hall's flanks. "Are you getting just... A bad vibe?"

"A- 'Vibe'?"

"Like a feeling?"

"I get a bad feeling every time we enter one of these locations," She shrugged. "So no, nothing out of the ordinary here."

"...Alright."

"Why? Are you?"

"I dunno'..." Sanford looked up at her. "This place is too quiet."

"It is unsettling." She admitted. "A long time ago I read about a place in France', in the city of Paris'. They called them the- 'Catacombs' -and they had a haunting reputation with the French people. This place reminds me of it."

"I heard about the Paris Catacombs when I was a kid. It was rumored the European Commonwealth was going to dig them up and turn them into a underground shelter bunker..."

"Destruction of yet more history," She rolled her eyes. "I could see the monkeys doing that."

"What are both of you yappin' about now?!" Hancock butted into the conversation- literally- and Sanford edged back his helmed head when the robot thrust himself from behind, between the two of them.

The Deathclaw looked disgusted.

"The place is haunted." Sanford grunted. "It is, definitely, that's what we're talking about."

"Haunted? BULLSHIT!" Hancock snapped. "This is what you Hippie-Freaks get for suckin' drug cocktails!"

"I've never even touched a container for a narcotic in my life, usiner'." She said.

"Neither have I, and you live with me to know that." Sanford raised a brow.

-They rounded a sharp turn in the passageway- and as they peered past the blocks of concrete making the hall corner- they saw a chamber that extended out a bit more- a square-shaped one, and there were metal pylons that gridded the center in two rows of six.

The floor was dirt again- there were small clustered piles of old pre-War tools and metal containers strewn in the recesses and against the concrete walls of the room- there was another lantern that was lit, on top of an old work table towards the other end of the room.

Sanford stepped in first, placed himself in the center of the chamber, and spun around once to see everything.

"I think it's clear," Sanford waved Han' and the Deathclaw over. "Check this out over here."

There was a doorframe that was carved out of the concrete wall to the left- a metal, gridded frame with an ajar iron bulkhead, that was swung inwards, and had its gray paint illuminated a bright sheen by another lit source of light in the room ahead.

Sanford peered through this new entryway while the Deathclaw kept her eyes on the other end of the pylon-supported main chamber- he stepped inside the small cell.

It was an office- the walls were metal here, painted a dull blue and chipping rust- an aluminum workdesk was set up after a matted, scratched and black swivel chair on four wheels.

There were filing cabinets to the right- a whole row of them- and they were all opened, and their folders and paper-based contents strewn across the floor in flattened heaps. Someone was in a hurry.

"Ransacked files, huh..." Sanford stepped over the crinkling debris- he pushed the swivel chair aside from his path to the desk- hearing the wheels quietly squeak, the back of the leather rear cushion patting against the wall it bucked against when it rolled to a stop. "Hey, Han', look."

Another computer was set up on the desk- its screen dark and dusty.

"Oh goody, sir, ANOTHER broken computer! Amazing! We should start collecting dust bunnies!" Hancock ranted from over his shoulder as Sanford stepped aside, for the robot to join him at the desk.

"Help me boot it up."

"Well what the hell's wrong with it?"

"Hold on," Sanford leaned forwards, and gripped the computer's flanks. **_CRSH-CM_** -it made a terrible screech against the metal of the desk when he forced it towards himself a bit. "Lemme' pop the back."

 ** _CLN_**

 ** _clclcl_**

-The square, yellow, back panel flicked off and clattered behind the desk to oblivion- Sanford inched as much as the armor would allow and peered into the back cables of the computer.

"...Uhm... Needs a Type-5 RR.K Sparkplug."

"Type-5 RR.K? Bollacks! I don't got any of those..." Hancock's storage unit flapped open with a charismatic squeak- and the robot fumbled around inside with his craned-over claw. "...Uhm... I got a YY-99 model?"

"Well that's RobCo too, yeah?"

"Yep!"

"Does it have the same female port?"

"That is does!"

"Then it's interchangeable- gimme'."

"Here."

The Deathclaw leaned inside the smaller frame to listen to the two of them and their unchallenged knowledge of electronics that had been gathered over all the years of scavenging- she watched Sanford take a small cylindrical part from Hancock.

The man stuck it somewhere behind the computer in its rear cable units- and the screen made a small buzzing noise as it reactivated, and was born anew.

"Ha-ha! I still got it!"

"Never doubted you, sir!"

"Let's see here..."

Sanford typed on the unfolded keyboard for a few seconds. Some messages flicked about- he grunted, and hit the ENTER key a few times.

"...What's this?" He hit the key again.

 ** _BMM_**

-They all jumped when something metal shifted.

Sanford stood from the monitor and glanced at the Deathclaw- who had turned around and was looking back into the chamber behind her, where she came up with nothing but the lit lantern in the back.

Hancock flew over to the filing cabinets in the little cell he and Sanford were still in- he peered closer to one of the larger cabinet pieces, and pointed at its bottom with his claw.

"Under there, sir."

Sanford wrapped his fingers under the entire aluminum furniture piece- he lifted it clear off the floor, and placed it behind him to peer at whatever had been underneath.

Melded against the concrete flooring- was a square, blackened, metal hatch with a crank wheel on it, and small code-keyboard next to that.

Sanford smiled widely.

It was a safe locker.

Maybe this trip wouldn't be so worthless after all.

He grabbed the wheel, turned it once with a creak, and lifted the hinged cap to the left where it bucked against the wall.

Inside, Sanford saw a small pile of stored food containers. He squinted, and reached in to sift a can of Cram out of the way- and beneath this brief mound of rations, there was a stack of dollar bills- matted, green, and torn pre-War dollar bills.

Someone must have been planning to stay here for a long, LONG, time. Too bad that obviously had amounted to nothing.

"Well, the food's good," Sanford smiled- picking up a container of water- he looked at the Deathclaw. "You thirsty? I sure am."

"Yes, monsieur'... Are those rations?"

"Indeed they are. Two crazed firefights and no lunch break? Pah! Not anymore."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	34. Chapter 34

**CHAPTER 34.**

 **The Quarry Horror.**

* * *

Sanford had kind of gotten a good feel for what it was like walking around in the chambers and tunnels of the facility- it was a lonely place, real quiet, save for the pattering falling dust from setting concrete walls.

Having fled from the Enclave, and narrowly avoiding getting disintegrated by a napalm attack- Sanford, Hancock, and the Deathclaw had taken a good pit stop at a little office-like cell they had found filled with stored food.

They all were busying themselves in some way for the short time they planned to take a breather- as, the more time they spent inside the quarry, the harder it would get to escape with the Enclave outside and all.

Hancock was fiddling with the rechargeable batteries for his Plasma gun- he levitated off to the side of the cell, and gave off rattling little clicks and clacks as he took out the worn ones from the chamber compartments of his gun and slid in fresher samples.

The robot hummed some old pre-War marching tune- and Sanford grinned when he picked up the melody and pieced it together.

 _Poor Han', and his ways._

The Power Armor was making some creaking noises as he reached up and shoveled another container of food in his mouth- a can of Cram -and his un-helmed head looked oddly small in comparison to the titanic-appearing suit he had been constantly wearing throughout the travels.

He chewed quickly and overhand tossed the can above his pauldron- where it clacked away on the concrete floor, and bounced off the foot of a filing cabinet near the empty safe.

Sanford had managed to shove pretty much three-quarters of the rations in his trusty ruck-sack- the other half he and the Deathclaw had cleaned out in no less than fifteen minutes- seeing as they both were starving from the last few death-defying activities.

Currently, Sanford was knelt in front of the aluminum desk- sifting through all the corrupted data files that were stowed in the computer's hard drive- all of them were completely unreadable bundles of destroyed code errors.

Some of the file logs DID however, still have functionality- but Sanford was pretty disappointed when he accessed some of the good ones only to discover they were just staff rosters, or equipment tallies- he eventually found a map of the facility, and snapped his armored fingers for Hancock to come closer.

"What is it, sir?" Hancock hovered right next to him- and peered past the ridge of his pauldron with a probing ocu-lense.

"Download this map into your memory dumps," Sanford nodded at it. "See that? I told you guys there were multiple tunnels- there's one not that far from here."

"Aye, I see it... Welp'! More shit to add to the cluster-fuck of my mind!"

"Lemme' ask you," Sanford smiled as Hancock scanned the screen with an unseen parameter. "What did you DO the last two or so days we were separated?"

"Aw, you know... Ruffled some feathers here, stole a few women there..."

"Seriously, Han', what was happening? If anything?"

"...Uhmmmm... Ah! Ran into a collection of Gunners!"

"How many?"

"Fifteen, twenty? I dunno'! I ain't a mathmatician!"

"Did they see you?"

"Right after I nuked half of them! Ha!"

"You took the whole group out?"

"Definitely!"

"You can just tell that we're buddies."

"That's quite true! Hoo-rah!"

"So tell me, what happened? Firefight wise."

"It was an average shoot-up, sir! Like the hundreds beforehand!"

"Huh. Alright."

"I even met a nice droid! It was unfortunate I had to blow off her legs, but... You know, sacrifices must be made in the name of liberty!"

"A -'Droid'- huh? What kind of droid?"

"A girl!"

"HA! You found a feminine personality robot running around?"

"Yep! Assaultron model!"

"...Oh crap, the Gunners sicked an Assaultron on you?"

"It was unfortunate that said union was never meant to be... Ah, well... Such is the lonely life of the badass crusader!"

"...Yeah..." Sanford sighed, glanced over his shoulder pauldron- where he saw the Deathclaw's cloven, reptilian foot sticking out into the chamber as she leaned against the wall outside.

As if detecting him through some weird sense- her head angled to view into the doorframe of the office cell- since she couldn't fit through it- and she saw Sanford looking at her, and flashed him a toothy grin.

He chuckled at her as she slid back behind the wall.

"...So tell me this, Han',"

"Map downloaded! Ha-ha! -Ah, and, yes, sir?"

"-What happened with this Assaultron, eh?"

"Oh, well, she did what most women do AFTER the poor slob's hitched to her, before I even got to talk to her at all! She tried to blow my face off with lasers! Damned women and their lasers!"

"You talked to her?"

"She mistook me for a Gunner unit! The GALL!"

"And...?"

"I introduced myself as the gentlemen soldier I am, of course!"

"...Yep. Uh-huh. And she wanted no part of this, right?"

"Nada'! Had to blow her up!"

"Saw that coming a mile away."

"Bah! What do YOU know?"

"...Hmm. Hey, can you try to find some live files on here? I haven't dug anything good besides THIS up. I'm gonna' talk to Ms. Angerpants outside."

"Sure thing, monkey-man!"

-Sanford stood and turned from the desk as Hancock started swiping across the keyboard with efficient clicks from the tip of his claw.

The robot could hack the computer's files a lot quicker than he could- after all, with all the extra code sections that Sanford had helped Hancock upload into his system- ole' Han' was one talented Mr. Gutsy with custom capabilities- the scanning systems were just one part.

He ducked through the metal doorframe and looked down at the Deathclaw who was seated on the floor against the wall behind herself- her tail was curled over her right thigh and draped in her lap- her claw was open and the biplane book was supported in its center.

"Hey, girl."

"...That's a new greeting," She observed musingly- closing the book with a flex of her thumb. "Monsieur'."

"So," Sanford stood before her and smiled. "Close call with napalm."

"They've never used that on me before."

"Well you were probably gone most of the time before they could even consider it."

"Yes."

"...So..."

"...So...? Mon ami'?"

"...You remember that big Enclave guy you checked? The one that shot me?" Sanford gestured for the blackened tears in the chest of his suit.

"...Yes." She sounded a bit duller.

"You seemed, I guess... EXTRA angry at him."

"Yes."

"...Do you know who he is?"

"...Yes."

"...Can I ask how you do?"

"He was the overseer for my genetic project in the Enclave."

"...Wait a minute..."

"..."

"Wait, you told me you escaped Enclave capture."

"...I did."

"...But..."

"I escaped Enclave capture, AFTER I escaped their facility somewhere near D.C. I don't remember where specifically... I was too small."

"...So, the Enclave... T-They MADE you?"

"In a sense, I suppose," She lightly shrugged- looking down at his feet. "It's why I don't like talking about it, mon ami'. It makes me feel... Like I'm wrong. Like I shouldn't exist. That my very being, is... is a crime of sorts."

"...I don't think it's a CRIME, it's just-"

"I've only spoken to a choice handful of other sentient beings in my life, monsieur'- not one of them have been human," She looked curtly up at him- her yellow eyes straight, a frown on her chops. "And you are the only person I have ever told that to. Ever."

"...I-I mean, it's... Certainly startling," Sanford admitted, looking at her honestly. "-But, I-I always figured that something lab-ish' was involved, b-because if it wasn't, I would figure you would be in a pack, or a clan- or you would at least be around other loners."

"...I'd hope that, it doesn't change your perspective of me, mon ami'."

"Never. It's just surprising, but, kind of NOT suprising at the same time... You told me Deathclaws were a genetic experiment made by the army beforehand, right?"

"My kind was bred to be a biological weapon, monsieur'. It was by the United States Government AND all military sects," She nodded. "The Enclave had direct blood lineage to the United States military. It's why they have access to all of that equipment- all of that information. They ARE, the army."

"...It's unbelievable. Our country was turning into a fascist-related horror and, now, we can see what it would've become on a grander scale if the bombs never dropped..." Sanford shook his head. "I've only heard stories about the Enclave until recently. That was the first time I'd seen them up close."

"They are evil, evil people, monsieur'."

"...A-And, this guy? That you know?"

"...His name is Laslar Seduun."

"Laslar Seduun?"

"He is Superintendent of the Enclave. The most decorated officer in their ranks... He's a Connard'. A fucking Connard'."

"...He oversaw the scientists that, like, GREW you?"

"I never found out if they grew me, or if I was an embryo they took from an egg," She shrugged- looking down at the floor again. "That would mean I have parents I'll never know... Hm. Pitie'."

"So what's Laslar's deal?"

"His- 'Deal' -monsieur'?"

"What do you know about him?"

"Some of the members of my pack that had interacted with humans pieced the puzzle together... Because there were all these rumors coming from a former- 'Tex-us' -? Is it pronounced?"

"Texas, yeah."

"-There were stories from other humans that an unbeatable man was rampaging throughout the midwest, killing, raping, pillaging, and burning everything he came across. They called him the- 'Texan Terror'."

"...How long did that go on for?"

"I don't know, I only heard mentions of the stories, not the tales themselves." She sighed. "When I found that THAT was the human that had overseen my creation, I felt... Horrified. I still feel horrified."

"...Do you know how this Laslar character got into the Enclave? I thought they didn't accept outsiders like the Brotherhood did?"

"Monsieur', all I have is his name, and that he's more beast than person. I know nothing else, and I haven't seen him in almost a decade, but I could never forget that armor, or his voice."

"...Suppose this changes some things."

"...Like what?"

"Nothing bad, or, nothing that has me changing any points of view. I'm glad you told me, that you trust me for that."

"...Trust, hm." She shifted on the floor. "I don't think you realize what kind of position I have given you over me, mon ami'."

"What do you mean?"

"I've told you so many things that make me vulnerable, and needlessly emotional... Monsieur', I've changed how I go about my days so quickly, it's bothering me."

"You talking to me about things that concern you, bothers you?"

"Well, no, non', not exactly like that, it's... I don't know."

"...This world is hell, Deathclaw," He nodded down at her. "Every day could be our last- and if there's one thing that I've learned in this terrible place, it's that people move on, and they survive, and they evolve.

If humans make mistakes and learn from them, then I'm positive other sentient creatures, like some Deathclaws- do the same. If you feel like you need to talk to me- the guy you've only known a week or two -about something that is bothering you, or that means something to you, than you have every right to talk about it.

Life is short, and the Wasteland can make things even SHORTER- I'm willing to accept a good friendship with you after a week- I mean, c'mon. We've fought together, we've survived together, we've worked together, we've laughed together, and we've learned together.

I'm here for you."

The Deathclaw made a puffing noise from her snout- she was smiling up at him.

"I've never had anyone for any of this. I'm flattered, mon ami'." Her speech was a bit wavered.

"No problem. You alright?"

"-Y-Yes, I'm just being weak again, emotions and all that..."

"Emotions aren't weak," Sanford bent down with the servos in his suit releasing a tight creak- he raised a gauntlet and held it open for her. "I fear for the person who doesn't revel in their emotions."

"...Direct quote, monsieur'?" She hummed, opening her claw and clenched it loosely around the gauntlet's fingers with a shift of scales against steel.

"From myself? Sure."

"Hmhmmm..."

"...Say tough-girl, is that some flushing I detect, or what?"

Her smile flatlined for a brief second- she let go of his gauntlet and tugged at both her horns with clenching fingers- shielding her elongated face.

"No. Begone."

"Ha-ha! Ms. Angrypants got a little school-girl reaction!" Sanford joked.

"After all that nice hommage', now you make FUN of me, mon ami'?"

"Ah, what's a little poking humor?"

"Evil little thing."

Sanford stood from the ground, and as he passed back into the cell- he patted her scaly shoulder with a duo of- **_pwk pwk_** 's from the gauntlet's palm.

"Han'? Find anything?"

"Sir, putting aside my dastardly cunning and valuable feedback,"

"PFFT. Yep?"

"-Sir, I really, REALLY don't like the looks of this."

If it weren't for Hancock sounding so monotone- Sanford would've continued to brush the feigned concerns away, but... Hancock was only serious when he believed the shit was hitting the fan.

"...What did you see, Han'?" Sanford asked.

"Nothing good. Read this one, sir."

 _CLICK_

-The robot tapped the tip of his claw on a key of the computer just by his side on the desk still. The black screen flickered back to illuminated brightness, and on it was a sprawling log message.

Sanford leaned down to sift through it with a few sweeps of his eyes before starting at the beginning- and outside the cell, the previously pleased Deathclaw was now beginning to get a profane sense of that feeling that Sanford was describing earlier.

Something was definitely off.

And of course, as fate would have it- she had no idea what exactly this minute detail in the air WAS.

She couldn't pinpoint it. It was as if a small trickle of dread was just seeping into her system- and she hadn't even seen or heard anything that could've elicited that reaction from her.

So she listened to Sanford click some keys on the computer- edging her head to view into the doorframe again- she saw Hancock look at her with an ocu-lense, and then glance back at the man's pauldron whilst he focused on whatever they had pulled up.

"...Monsieur'?" She asked.

"Hold on, just gimme' a second..."

"...Mm."

She turned back around and was just getting ready to stand- she had her palm against the wall behind her, and she noticed a disturbance, a tiny one- on the edge of her upper vision.

She sucked in her breath and snapped her gaze towards the blooming illumination of the lantern they had found lit on top of the workbench nearby- and, she knew what she saw -she saw the quickest recluse of gathering shadows just snap right out of the light's reach.

It was like something was slowly emerging, and then, just, zipped back into the shadows when she got suspicious.

She didn't like that.

"Sanford," She said over her shoulder- finishing her stand, her nails unsheathed on both claws. "Problem."

Stalking over to the lantern- she swept her gaze about the chamber in all directions- she looked at the ground, at the foot of some of the piles of trash and containers in the corners, she looked at the ceiling- when she reached the work table that the lantern was on, she tested the air with a flick of her tongue.

Nothing.

No scents.

If it was a living creature, that was nigh impossible against her senses.

She looked around the workbench- glancing when Sanford rushed through the cell doorframe nearby with his combat shotgun in his grip.

"What happened? What'd you see?" He asked hurriedly- stepping over to watch her curiously as she examined the ground around the workbench's metal feet.

"I saw something over here, small, quick- jumped away when I looked."

"Me and Han's scanners are still out... Do you smell anything? I know you're good at detecting that."

"Non'. Nothing."

"...So, what?"

"I don't know, monsieur'."

"You feel alright?"

"I feel the same thing you were describing earlier."

"...Oh." Sanford felt it too. A tiny hint of dread. He didn't DO dread.

"I think you're both high!" Hancock interjected from behind Sanford as he flew out of the doorframe to join them. "Hey! The two of you look like Bloody Mary zipped in here and yanked her blouse up!"

"Han' and me just dug up another log file on the computer," Sanford muttered to her, ignoring his robotic friend. "Remember the one I showed you before? The one where a worker grabbed the guy hollering about something?"

"Sur'."

"There is a whole database of reports that were made by staff," Sanford continued. "There's hundreds of them, I couldn't read them all."

"What did they say?"

"Shadows, black movement."

"...There's something in here, monsieur'."

 ** _crrk_**

-The tiniest crack of ruptured glass.

The chamber grew exquisitely dark.

They all turned to stare at the work table at her flank- and they all saw pretty clearly that the lantern had gone out, and not only that, but there was this randomly appearing spider-crack that drew down its glass bulb's midsection, top to bottom.

The Deathclaw snarled and looked about the room- her eyes able to pierce the blackness- and Sanford and Hancock's night vision filters giving them perfect clarity to scan about as well.

There was nothing in that room.

There were no people, there were no animals, there were no Ghouls there was no ANYTHING. There was nowhere for anything to hide. This was screwed up.

"Han'," Sanford muttered. "Download that map you got, into my HUD. Let's get out of here. Now."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Four exitways were found- four exitways were overseen by a Vertibird and a team of guys. Luft was being kept in one of the craft so he could be dropped into any of the zones should the Deathclaw and her posse' emerge from a random arch- and the soldiers needed help.

Laslar was going into one of the tunnel entrances with a group of six men- and another squad of eighteen that had been dropped in as reinforcements were going into another tunnel to the east.

This one was built into the side of a raising hill not too far from the quarry pit- it had been wide open, the steel door swung off to the side- and a concrete ramp descending into a series of dark tunnels.

"No need to maintain radio silence," Laslar recounted into the global communications link whilst he and his team became enshadowed from the daylight outside under the beginnings of the tunnel, their boots clacking metallically in an organized pattern of falls. "See anything, report it. Fall back if the thing tries to close distance with you- each team has two Heavy Flamers in the middle ranks- use them."

" _Affirmative._ "

" _Got it._ "

"Luft, you're on standby. If any of the outside watches report the 'Claw, drop in THAT specific zone to aid the soldiers- everyone else will converge from the rear and sides."

" _Yes sir._ "

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

The map in the lower corner of Sanford's internal display at least allowed him to visibly keep up with what Hancock was telling him, and which directions he should be heading. Together, they worked themselves on the fastest route possible towards a southern exit tunnel that lead back out to the hills.

Sanford had two things that were giving him grief as he trudged through the tunnels of this quarry, that apparently had some kind of messed up THING in it with them- one, just traveling through the place was bad enough after what had happened...

-But two, they'd have to try to fight their way through whatever the Enclave had waiting for them at the entrance of the tunnel.

If Sanford knew anything about combat tactics- he sure as heck knew that this Laslar character, if he was as good as these stories the Deathclaw had heard of said he was- then he would have the Vertibirds just sit out there at each archway and wait for them.

The aircraft were nasty- four gatling laser turrets, missile launcher packs, and one of them had autocannons on its flanks- and there was no telling whatever had fired those rounds to flood the lift chamber with napalm.

This wasn't going to be easy- and Sanford felt his skin crawling from remembering that burn he had suffered- it would figure that the forces of creation would shut him up like that, after all, he was just basically bragging to himself the other day about how he'd never taken a bullet directly.

Now he could proudly say he had never been shot by BULLETS, but by atomically-heated plasma.

Woo-hoo.

Just to give a good idea- that Plasma had been so hot, that it hadn't even fully penetrated the glacis plate of his cuirass- and the temperature inside the torso section of his suit got hot enough to start cooking the interior.

Sanford now had to really worry about potential damage that was inflicted on the suit's body- now he had TWO breaches, and if a round or two smacked about in one of them from the right angle- he was screwed, because the bullet would probably bounce off the padding inside the suit.

In other words, he'd get shredded alive if a few rounds ricocheted inside his armor for a few seconds- the thought wasn't pretty.

"Down there, sir." Hancock indicated a three-way intersection up ahead- he pointed to the right.

"...Uhm... Han', no, I think we need left." Sanford looked at the GPS dot that shown his position on the little holographic map in the corner of his HUD- the entryway was to the left, not to the right.

"No way, sir!" Hancock butted."If we go left we'll go even DEEPER into the tunnel network! And I for one sure as hell don't want to hang around Slap-Happy-Grandpappy' ville anymore! This place SUCKS! And... AND IT SMELLS LIKE MILDEW!"

"...You don't have a nose. You know- RO. BOT?"

"RACIST SON OF A BITCH!"

"-Concentrate! We're going left!"

"-Sir! LOOK. AT. YOUR. MAP! That leads to another dead-end chamber! Are you friggin' blind?!"

"But what are you-"

Sanford looked down at his map again.

...It looked different. Some of the tunnels weren't in the same patterns... The exitway they sought was now... Yeah, now it was a right turn.

"...Han', quit changing the file feed."

"What're you on about?!"

"Stop fooling around with the map."

"I didn't touch anything, you monkey!"

"...Then why'd my map change?"

"What do you mean, Cap'n?"

"...Deathclaw,"

"Monsieur'?" She answered from beside him.

"You feel swimmy at all? Dizzy? Headache?"

"...Non'? Why?"

...Was it possible that, maybe, some kind of chemical leak had gotten into the quarry and it was causing them to see shit?

Because the map was clearly different in its drawn layout not even three seconds ago.

"Alright this really isn't good- Han', you need to map us out of here, I-I think..."

"Sir? What the crap is going on?!"

"...I think whatever is in here is making me see things... I think it's making me, AND you," He pointed to the Deathclaw. "-See things. Han'? Do your toxicity filters pick up anything in the air? A chemical? Toxin?"

"Nothing, sir. Just a whole bunch of God-awful DUST! FRIKKIN' COMMUNIST INDUCED DUST!"

"Let's just get out of here- go right, you said?"

"-AAAHHH-! -Wha'?... Ah! Yep. That was it! Direction of freedom!"

Steel boots, leathery heels, and a single airborne thruster quietly resumed travel down the misty-floored pass- and while Hancock wasn't as much getting the same uncomfortable aura that Sanford, and what could be assumed the Deathclaw as well- the robot was getting more and more of a less jocular attitude towards this trek.

One thing that Hancock tended to do when the situation looked bad, was get quieter, more to the point- he sounded like Sanford a little bit. Keeping it serious, curt.

You know, like a- 'Stop with the theatrics, tell me what needs to get done, right now, and how to do it, and lets do it.' -kind of perspective.

Sanford was unreadable in his expression beneath his helmet- because he was extremely disturbed by this alien tornado of dread that was funneling into his system from a seemingly outside force.

It was terrible- they had been MOCKING the idea of this place being- 'Haunted' -but, it sure seemed like something dark was going on here.

"-Monsieur'? Look." The Deathclaw interrupted his thinking, and also their traveling- she stopped short, and turned unexpectedly towards a corner in the varying block-like degrees of the hall's leftwards wall side.

Sanford fell into stance beside her- looked at her, and she blinked at him, and nodded at what she was aiming for.

"Not ANOTHER dead body!" Hancock groaned. "There's too many of these things here! We need to redecorate this place! Or at least hire a frikkin' janitorial team or two!"

Sanford squinted as his night vision allowed him to take in the details of this figure that was lain on the concrete , back against the blocky wall- it was indeed a dead person. Albeit, not recognizable anymore by a long shot- the body was skeletal, and it had dust on it, if that told you how old it was in a rough sense.

The skeleton's skull was draped with its chin against its right collar bone- the thin arms were laid out on either side of it, and its legs were stuck out in extending protrusions that met the edge of the tunnel's clear center.

If she hadn't noticed it, the skeleton was in the confines of the wall enough, and in enough shadow- that they would've walked right past it.

Still, the presentation got Sanford's attention enough that he didn't just wave it off for them to keep moving- he checked the little map in his corner HUD, took some solace in the fact it hadn't changed again.

"...Hold on..." Sanford bent down lower to the corpse- the servos in his suit gave off the little annoyance of creaking- and his armored rear plating compressed against the back roundness of his armored boots' calves.

There were two things physically ON the body that Sanford took note of- there was a dry magazine- a clip for something small, like a handgun- that was on the ground right by the skeleton's left thigh, and clenched in its boney right hand's fingers, was a yellow rectangular item.

Sanford pinched two metal fingers over the tip of this electronic device- he plucked it free, and the hand rose with the item for an inch before clacking down onto the concrete in dusty rest once more, the fingers now splayed open.

Bringing it closer for inspection- Sanford saw that it was an audio drive- one of those little portable things that had become pretty popular a few years before the bombs dropped- Sanford remembered that you could buy one from a convience store back then for around eight bucks.

He rolled his jaw and stood up- titanium clacking- he held it out for Hancock.

"Tap into this, would ya'?"

"On it, sir!"

Hancock popped open his storage hatch- and dove his claw into it, rummaging around- while Sanford brought the drive closer to his helmet lenses, stuck a finger into the edge of a small panel- he tugged out the loose, rusty screw holding it in place.

"What is that, monsieur'?" The Deathclaw watched as he flicked the brown-colored screw away, and the yellow-colored strip of plastic vanished down in the misty floor.

"Audio recording device," Sanford said- pinching a red wire between two finger tips, and slowly unwinding it to extend from the interior of the device's circuitry innards. "You put them in computers, consoles, or portable units, and they play whatever the user saved on them."

"Does it require power?"

"Only when you want to use it to record sound. I just want to hear what's on it."

Hancock came back with a small black cable in his claw's two pincers- it was torn on the end, and a splindly bush of copper vines splayed from the ragged cap. Sanford held the side of the red cable, and he and Hancock worked to wrap the copper sections of the robot's extension over the device's wire.

"What is that for?" The Deathclaw quizzed.

"Han' can tap into communication waves just by being near them," Sanford chuckled. "We found that he can pick up electronic frequencies by physically touching them with his internal systems."

"...That's too confusing for me, mon ami'."

"Both of ya' shut up and listen!" Hancock snapped. "Ah-HA! There you are you little shit!"

 ** _cssshhhhhh_**

-Static blared from Hancock's vocal emitters lowly, like a small hiss, as he tapped into the device's contents.

 ** _SHK_**

 ** _cssssh-_**

-The static faded away, and Sanford bowed his head to listen to whatever was on the log.

...It was empty.

...Where was the sound? It couldn't just be EMPTY could it?

"God damn it, I was hoping this fellow USED it before he-"

"Monsieur'," She muttered behind him. "Listen."

Sanford squinted at her- than stilled his voice.

...Oh indeed, there was a small sound coming from the feed that Hancock was broadcasting. It sounded wavering- really quiet.

...It sounded like voices, whispering, incomprehensible.

"...Is that talking?" Sanford asked.

"It sounds like it, mon ami'."

"Can you understand what they're saying?"

"Non'."

"Han', is this it?"

The audio file clicked off for a brief cough of static- Hancock started to talk again.

"What'd you expect?! A speech from Hoover?"

"Well how long does that whispering go on for?"

"Exact audio file extension places it at five minutes, sir!"

"And does anything else happen? Any other noises?"

"Nope!"

"...Holy God, there is something so not good here." Sanford looked at the Deathclaw. "-Hey, what happened?"

"I saw that movement again." She mumbled- yellow eyes piercing the blackness just down from where they had come from.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Just a few more turns down the tunnel- the schematic scan showed a large, cylindrical chamber ahead, that was like a big underground silo in shape and look.

The tunnel ended abruptly for a concrete, triangular arch- which, when they passed under, revealed a room that easily was two stories tall- was rounded and extended up to a mechanical cap that domed the chamber's roof.

There was a mechanical crane arm that was affixed to the once rotatable dish at the top- it had gears on each side of two rusty mooring pegs- and the arm itself was crisscrossing X's of steel on a quad extension of thin metal pylons that ended in a large, shiny grabber claw on a steel block end.

The crane was folded upwards against the dish- and all down the tall rounded walls were metal support lattice- and up on the second-story, there was a metal plat that had a rusty bulkhead, sealed, and not reachable to them on the ground.

The concrete floor was littered with wooden shipping palletes, metal crates- and there was another electric work lantern that was lit, and placed on the edge of the chamber, by the second archway that lead closer to their escape.

Sanford looked up at the crane- and then back down at the passage that they had to take, that was placed directly ahead of the ground-level one they had emerged from.

"Calth, again..." The Deathclaw said from his side- she was reading a jumble of large letters that had been spray-painted in white on the concrete wall just next to the arch they had come from- the letters were runny, with white arteries drawing down towards the floor from their main girths.

It read- 'CALTH' -and below that, there were a few inscriptions that had been written in marker or something small like that- they were black, and most were blurred so much you couldn't read them. Ironically, the ones that Sanford WAS able to read, read- 'No' -and- 'Fuck you!'

What was this 'Calth' figure that was all over the place in this dump?

Was it a chemical? A machine? A person?

Was it whatever was causing some of the hallucinations he and the Deathclaw were seeing? Were they even hallucinations to begin with?

"What the hell?" Sanford was cursing to himself as they went into the next arch into the next tunnel. "...Han', how far?"

"There should be a winding passage, one turn, and then a ramp leading up to a surface chamber! Hoo-rah! FREEDOM!" Hancock cheered. "I can already taste the victory ale!"

"Monsieur'," The Deathclaw asked. "How exactly does a quarry extract stone from a place like this? It looks more like they just made random tunnels through it."

"...Well I'd imagine before the bombs dropped that the tunnels were just to probe around to find rock veins, and when they found them, they expanded that crater we entered to reach and dig them up. They didn't do most of the digging IN the actual tunnels."

"I thought that was the purpose of the tunnels though?"

"Not with some of the newer digging technology they were making just before the war." Sanford shook his head. "I'm talking about single drills that could unearth a mile or two of land by themselves."

"Do you think this company was using the qaurry for something else?"

"They obviously were!" Sanford laughed sarcastically. "That, or they dug some shit up and their guys had a fit over it."

"Maybe it's a combination of the two."

"You're probably right. I think Haven had them dig in this spot, and told them it was for one thing, but there was something ELSE they didn't mention... Jesus, it's Vault Tec all over again."

"What do you mean?"

"Vault Tec had some sick people running it. They experimented with their own populations- that's why so many Vaults are opened and the people inside have already been long dead."

"What kind of experiments, monsieur'?"

"...Can we... Talk about this when we're NOT in a place strikingly similar?"

"...Mm. Yes." She agreed- looking away. "Apologies."

"Hancock, where are we?"

"Sir, you have this funny little contraption in the corner of your physical vision... You wanna' know what it's called? Do ya'?" Hancock floated closer, and jammed the tip of his claw off Sanford's shoulder with a small- **_PJK_** -"-It's called... A FREAKING MAP! You know?! SOMETHING THAT'S DRAWN TO ACCURATELY REPRESENT A MAN-MADE STRUCTURE?! HUH?!"

"...Hancock,"

"WHAT?!"

"Shut the fuck up."

"...Huh, I was right, you ARE stupid!"

"Damned, loud-mouthed, rusty, rambling coffee-machine..."

"HEY! YOU BIGOT-LICKING, LIZARD-SUCKING SON OF A-" **_PMM clctclctlctl-_** "-MAN DOWN! MEDIC!"

Sanford smiled fully as they passed through the triangle arch- and Hancock was left behind in a clatter on the floor in the dark way behind them as he flew right into the frame's side- too busy screaming his emitters off to pay attention to his flight path.

The chamber was pretty big- rectangular, stone walls with steel lattice supports- but what had Sanford's interest piqued, was the white chalk markings that ran in gridded lines into the center of the chamber, and then branched into three slot-like marks.

Sanford looked up, and saw one of these painted parking spaces in the middle of the large room, taken by the rusting hulk of an old pre-War truck- a tractor trailer, with only one trailer, a vacant flatbed. It was a yellow-painted vehicle- reading- ' _HAVEN CORPS'_ -on the righthand passenger door.

The rounded, bulky vehicle looked beautiful to him- because right behind it, was a near six-lane wide concrete ramp, that rose towards a big, bright light at its top.

They had found their exit- and the best part was, that Sanford didn't hear any rotary blades in the backdrop.

They could make a run for it.

"...Oh, Hancock, you brilliant dumbass." Sanford chuckled.

"Dieu' Merci'..." The Deathclaw muttered in praise.

"We're home free! C'mon, Han'! Let's run!"

"COMING, SIR!"

Sanford's boots thudded against the rock, the Deathclaw right beside him- and fluttering out from the confines of the arch in the backdrop- the drab-colored, rounded shot out, and levitated in line right behind them like a bullet.

The light was stinging against his dark-adjusted eyes- but the second Sanford saw a white cloud stringing in the blue sky up through that rectangular port- he smiled wider than he had in the whole week.

Victory. He could already taste the ale he didn't have back at home, like Han' had said.

 ** _vmmmvmmclmclmcCLMCLMCLMCLMCLMCLM_**

 ** _CMMMMVMM_**

-...Yeah.

And then a mother-fuckin' Vertibird flew right in front of that puffy, nice little cloud.

The cockpit presented- the propellers were screaming and balancing thrusters were lighting beneath the craft's wings- Sanford heard clacking of safeties being pulled down the frames of weapons, the hum of charging batteries.

He darted his head down from where he had been looking- and just noticing the party for the first time, as they had just stepped over the concrete raise in the mouth of the ramp up ahead- was a cluster of like ten or so Enclave soldiers.

-And guess which one was standing in the middle of the crowd?

"Target sighted! Kill him!"

 ** _CLAKCALCKLCKLAKCLCLAKLACLKALCKLK_**

-Plasma fire was tossed everywhere, and before Sanford could even process it for himself- his armored limbs were arcing, boots stamping away- he sprinted like a character in a cartoon did when one of those comedic running scenes happened on the screen.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" Sanford belted between foot-falls. "WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!"

"I ALWAYS KNEW I'D RUST AWAY TO INSIGNIFICANCE IN A MAIN PLOT LINE INSIDE A QUARRY!" Hancock joined him in the screaming- flying by with his faster thruster.

"I HATE ALL OF YOU!" The Deathclaw commented loudly- her tail swinging in great sweeps as she ran on all fours- her palms splaying with each bound.

They vanished back into the same arch they had emerged from so close to escape- green bolts ate into the concrete everywhere- flinging debris, breathing trails of luminescent, green fallout.

-Back in the group of soldiers, Laslar Seduun cursed loudly, and ran straight past his entire formation, and vanished into the darkness of the tunnels after his game.

The Enclave warriors looked at each other with discertainty for a good moment- before they all ran with weapons in dual-grasps over their beltlines, to trail single-file through the triangular archway after their leader.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	35. Chapter 35

**CHAPTER 35**

 **Down Below.**

* * *

A good amount of years ago- he didn't know an exact number, he didn't count because he really didn't care for the memory outside a musing thought every other day- Laslar had been running around the wastes of California during the final days of the NCR war.

The desert had always been a hellish place to him- far worse than the East Coast, even worse than central North America and Mexico- and his temper had been rife for the amount of killing wrought on that day.

Laslar had become notorious for the butchering he lead into the New California Republic's midsection territories- and, of course throughout his whole campaigning- he had become enraged on the field MULTIPLE times... But there were some instances that stood out to him.

Laslar had pretty much razed the settlements of Squat and One Pine- and he had killed so many NCR soldiers and rangers, and he had killed them in almost every way thinkable. Laslar had never amounted to such diversifying of his killing before- even in Texas, he had guns and booby traps for it every time, all the time.

In Nevada and California, though, Laslar had ended men and women with his bare hands (Even though they were in gauntlets from his suit, it still counted in his mind)- with blades, with guns, explosives. There were physical drags of browning crimson that stayed on his armor for days at a time.

The Enclave's older logistics systems didn't exist anymore exactly, and directly because of the NCR-Enclave War- even though they had won, with flying colors- Laslar's and the other commanders' armies ran out of pretty much everything all the time. THIS, was the main reason for Laslar's uncontrolled anger.

Vertibirds would run out of gas, squads had to resort to using local projectile arms when all their Plasma batteries or Power Packs died out- there had been some Enclave soldiers that had died of disease or injury infections because they couldn't be medically evacuated from the Nevada desert in time.

Despite the heat, the dryness, the hell it played with his movement- Laslar despised Nevada, he despised Utah, he despised California and Arizona and Texas and Mexico- he fucking HATED it all, because it had been the most frustrating theater in his career.

There were entire Enclave units that had their offensives turn into fall-back operations because the NCR armies had enough people still alive to mount counter attacks when the Enclave soldiers ran out of damned ammo.

It was a war of attrition- the desert would allow nothing but.

Even though the Enclave had lost so few soldiers, and the NCR military still, arguably, had never fully recovered from the horrendous losses they sustained against the technologically superior foe- the Enclave still lost a lot of Vertibirds, most of them being captured after pilots had to abandon them.

Efforts at getting the right supplies to the field at the right time failed- and the irony of it was, so many Enclave personnel that HAD what their comrades needed, were forced to try and destroy the equipment to prevent it from falling into NCR hands when it broke down or the tanks ran dry.

The whole 'Slash and Burn'- policy hadn't worked out to the slightest degree of effectiveness- in fact, Laslar argued that it backfired.

Those Vertibirds that had been captured had been repaired- it was foolish to think the Republic's engineers- the most versatile Wastelander scavengers in the world- would be deterred by the fires Enclave soldiers had set in their cabins and cockpits, or the shrapnel damage from explosives.

His men had run out of so much- they didn't even have anything effective enough to destroy their own planes. As a result, the old Vertibirds- a lot of VB-01's, were still in service with the NCR army, painted forest green, retrofitted with projectile cannons and machineguns.

Even though the NCR offered a truce- and the Enclave had been too materially drained to continue the invasion any deeper south OR north- the NCR obviously kept a hold of the captured aircraft. There were rumors sometimes of an aircraft factory that the Republic was trying to gather funds to start.

Laslar thought of his first real taste of organized combat as a cohesive unit- because not only did it directly give him access to the science team that had helped him make the same thing he was now chasing today- BUT, it also reminded him of the burning, red rage he suffered from.

-Because this Wastelander, and his pet, were pissing him off, A LOT.

"FUCKING LITTLE SHITS!" Laslar screamed- his boots roaring with each thundering fall against the concrete flooring. "COME BACK! SO I CAN KILL YOU!"

The Superintendent was in a wild sprint down the dark tunnels of Springs Quarry- just like Sanford had found a knack of fluent motion within his own suit- Laslar was able to move frighteningly fast in his own armor. That may have had something to do with the fact that Laslar had been using the same suit for probably close to fifteen years.

"DIE, DAMN IT!"

 ** _CLACK CLAK_**

-Up ahead, not even far enough from Laslar to not hear his voice in explicit detail as he hollered about tearing his throat out with his bare hands- Sanford rounded a corner in the blocky concrete wall right as a trio of burning green punched into the stone just behind him.

He was giving off a heavy breath with each time his legs arced past each other- his head was tipped back, and poor Mr. Tobs was in one of the fastest sprints of his own to counter the Superintendent's- and it was probably the biggest workout over the last day.

"This-guy-is-REALLY-pissy'!" Sanford barked between breaths- earning no response from the Deathclaw, who was just keeping pace ahead of him, her reptilian body slinking down the middle aisle of the tunnel fluently.

"TAKE A PILL YOU MECHANIZED BITCH!" Hancock shouted back at the Enclave commander without hitch as he flew behind Sanford. "WE'RE ONLY RUNNING BECAUSE YOU STINK LIKE DOG SHIT! WE'LL BE BACK!"

"Hancock-SHUT-UP!" Sanford wheezed. "I-don'tgetitwithyou! -You-justkeep-SCREAMING-all-THE-GOD-DAMNED-TIME!"

-They ran down a straight passage for a quite a few seconds- and rumbling down at the end of the tunnel by the corner they had narrowly dodged Superintendent Seduun's fury with- rattled and belched dust about as Laslar battered through.

He was like a lumbering animal- his armored boots were literally leaving small clusters of fissures in the concrete he stepped on- his arms sometimes knocked off in glances from the walls on either side of him. He wielded a Plasma rifle- a kind that Sanford had never seen before -one-handed, and sprayed the hallway they ran down.

 ** _CLAK CLAKCLAKCLCALCLCK_**

-Green bolts started to fly everywhere.

 ** _PSSHKK!_**

"-AGH! DAMN IT!"

 ** _ssssssssssss..._**

Sanford was too busy trying to get away to assess the damage now on the BACK of his suit.

"This guy's pegged your ass TWICE, sir!" Hancock admonished- ducking as a bolt of plasma sailed right between two of his raised ocu-lenses with a passing hiss of ozone.

"HANCOCK! SHUT- UP!"

"How rude, sir!"

"Monsieur'-! Look out-!" **_CRSSK_**

"SHIT!"

...Here was an excellent question.

How many God forsaken times was Sanford going to fall in this adventure? Like, what the actual hell?

This was too stereotypical- if Hancock wasn't tumbling down with him, against every law of mechanical science that theoretically should've kept him in the air- he would've made some comment over how crappy of an action-movie the last few days had been.

Sanford fell through a roach-swarmed steeple's floor, he fell off a lift just before it got eaten by napalm, he fell through an archway with its stairs crumbled... And now, he was falling down a straight-shot, cigar-shaped pit that had just randomly popped up.

There wasn't total randomness with how this newest habit of his had spawned up- it had been his life up until recently- FALLING, falling physically sometimes, falling emotionally as the lonesomeness of the Wasteland had been eating away at him, falling in every way he could think of...

Now that had all kind of stalled, but in exchange, he was tumbling through Earth's deepest crags. Literally.

That sucked.

Bring back the depression, this was gonna' kill him faster.

-The breakage of wood is what he heard before the very same drop in his gut was felt, and he was plummeting.

The good news kind of was, the fall didn't last too long.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

 ** _pmk pmk PMK PMK-PKMM_**

"God-DAMN IT!" **_CRSSHM_** -Laslar almost stumbled into the pit himself when his quarry, all three of them, vanished in a jerking motion downwards, obscured by pluming smoke and woodchips from a cluster of planks strewn on the concrete ground.

Where his targets had once been running, there was now a four-foot wide hole that encompassed to both sides of the tunnel, meeting just before the left and right wall- the concrete raggedly turned to soil for a snaking trail of darkness below.

Laslar steadied himself from the perilous screeching halt he made with but a boot's toe on the edge of the new crater- he stepped back, steel thunking in his Power Armor.

"... Damn it." **_CRSSHM_** Laslar turned and planted his bunched fingers into the wall again- further leaving an indented flower of cracks in the blocky protrusion.

Rearing back and shaking his gauntlet- he growled, looked over his shoulder to see his team catching up- the group of armored soldiers rattling down the hall to stand before him in the blackness ungracefully.

"Sir? What happened?" One asked through the communications link.

"Grizaro, Manecks," Laslar snapped at the two men in the front ranks- each had a Heavy Flamer, an Incinerator, clenched in their plated hands, and were garbed in rounded Hellfire Armor.

Laslar pointed bluntly to the crater next to him.

"Burn it."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

The actual dropping into nothingness lasted a mere five or so seconds- and then, midway through- Sanford felt his back hit something through the rear of his cuirass- it wasn't a hard impact, just a startling jolt, and it sounded dusty.

 ** _PFFT!_**

-He heard tiny crumbles of dust flittering down the X-01's plating, and then he heard hissing, like a ridge made of titanium being dragged across a dirt road.

 ** _ssssSSHHHHHM_**

-Then, the feeling of weightlessness was replaced by the feeling of being on some whacked roller coaster.

Sanford shook his head wildly inside the helmet of his suit- saw ragged, root-strewn soil that formed the ribbed walls of the tunnel whoosing past his face, going upwards- he was dragging down in an incline in the worm-like passage.

He raised his head, and saw over the rounded curve of his breastplate- another drop in the dirt-made tunnel.

"-OH SHIT-!"

 ** _ssssssssSSCRSK!_**

 ** _BM-BM_**

 ** _BM_**

 ** _BM_**

"-WHA-?! AHH! AAHHH! AH- Ah... Uhm... Uhm... O-Oh... Oh, hey..."

Sanford had landed right on his heels.

That second drop couldn't have been more than a couple of feet.

After a quick stumble- Sanford stood on the dusty, dull brown ground beneath his heels, arms spread for balance that was no longer required. He was upright, a little dizzy from the adrenaline- but as the silence settled on him in the darkness of this new place, Sanford Tobs gathered his composure.

He sighed in relief, arched his spine inside the suit, and stretched himself with raised gauntlets.

"...Woo. That could've, gone a lot worse."

"Monsieur'?"

There was movement right in front of him- and he saw the Deathclaw materialize from the shadows, her yellow eyes standing brighter in the dank mist- she opened her jaws in a gasp, and nodded towards him with worry.

"Are you hurt?"

"Did the last fall hurt me?" He chuckled after a second. "And I even fell on my FACE that time. I'm good."

"Good."

 ** _clckt_**

 ** _clktlkl_**

 ** _cltlCLKCLCK_**

 ** _CLK_**

"-iiiiiIIIIIIINNCCOMMMINNNGGGG!"

Sanford started to turn- but it was too late.

Hancock's echoing warning rebounded down the tunnel just above his head- and was interrupted in its full volume from a pattern of metallic crashes, bangs, and impacts off of rocks as the robot clattered all the way down in a heap.

Sanford's eyes bugged in his head- and before he could duck, a missile of seeming scrap metal plowed into his torso.

 ** _CLKK! lckclcklckclk..._**

-Sometimes Sanford wished he made the sound of a bag of tin cans spilling out everywhere when he hit the floor. It would've made such scenes a lot more lighthearted.

Having not even flinched, Sanford gazed down at the pile of robotic insanity that was draped over both his boots with all three splaying arms draped on the ground. Hancock's chassis was lain ahead of that, and all three of his ocu-lenses were down.

"...Han'," Sanford sighed, looking up at the tunnel with a roll of his eyes. "Hancock, c'mon please, we don't have time."

"Monsieur', what if he's damaged?" The Deathclaw asked as she peered past his arm the metal bundle on the ground. "Not that I hold much concern either way."

"Trust me, he's being an ass again. HAN'. Get up. Let's go."

...Nothing.

Sanford flexed his teeth over his tongue, brows indenting.

"Get up, Commi-bot'."

 ** _CLANK!_**

-A small stone rebounded off of Sanford's helmet, bounced away to the left in the dark of the chamber.

Looking down- he saw a single ocu-lense raised from Hancock's chassis- and the robot silently stared him down, the lens adjusting with a few whispering whines.

"Way to pollute the funny, Corruptor!" Hancock snapped. "I could've been DEAD!"

"Like me? On the inside, Han'?"

"Exactly! You soulless Nazi!"

"Ouch." Sanford stepped away, making sure to kick off the robotic arms over his boots- he stepped beside the Deathclaw who was observing the robot collect himself off the floor with a look of disgraced pity.

He checked around this new space they had accidently uncovered- and instantly, now that they had gotten away from the Enclave for the second or third instance- he felt the tiny bit of dread in his heart again.

This was getting too much.

He never let anyone, or anything else suppress him or keep him from his goals- and right now, his goal was to escape with his friends- and if that meant sticking it to this- 'Calth' -thing, then that's what he would have to do.

Though, as expected for such a hidden chamber of this earthy caliber- the place was pretty bland. It was a round cavity in the earth, tiny stalagtites protruded from the ribbed roof all over and randomly.

His night vision filters gave him full sights of everything in the chamber- and the thing he saw that gave him the chills, was a oval-shaped hole in the wall up ahead- it was ribbed in texture, and made of stone that breached from the soil on either side of it.

The passway lead into another bulb of darkness beyond- but what was different with this dark expanse, was that he could see light somewhere inside, feint, and barely audible.

"Sir! This crapshoot isn't on the schematics!" Hancock snapped, flying beside his friend. "I don't know how to get out from another way besides this tunnel! Seeing as Texan-Turd up there isn't going to exactly, you know, hold our hands and HELP US OUT!"

"Sssh." Sanford muttered, stepping towards the stone passage. "Both of you follow me, stay behind me."

"I don't DO- 'Behind'- monsieur', we've been over this." The Deathclaw chimed.

"Do as I say."

Sanford didn't wait for a response he knew was coming- he started towards the arch, and his two companions were forced into being behind him as they caught up, leathery heels patting against the soil, central-thruster whistling quietly.

Sanford stepped over a slight chin that beveled from the dirt floor in the form of stone from the arch- he slipped between the rounded flanks of the rocky maw, and into a larger expanse.

There was another chamber- it was bigger, and what Sanford saw inside, made his skin crawl.

In the shadows, all of this probably wouldn't have been discernible to him without the night filters- but with his helmet, Sanford saw the entire setup through the lenses of his helmet.

There was a row of work chairs- swivel ones like in some of the offices back above, and foldible metal and plastic ones you'd see in a picnic or an outdoor setup were also there. The chairs numbered ten or fifteen- they were set in a square formation before the horror ahead of them, in the center of the chamber.

Even though it was a crudely carved block of concrete- the attempts to poorly forge ornate shapes into the stone, and the fact that the flat top was larger than its thinner base- told Sanford it was either a lectern, or an altar of some kind.

Browned stains that erupted from the center of the top and bloomed all across, and in long dried trails down the concrete's flanks- pointed more towards it being the opposite choice of his hopes for its origins.

It was an altar.

Right behind that was a structure, a tall one- at least six feet- Sanford was startled, because it looked like a person was standing behind the altar at first glance.

But no, it was made of stone, not flesh and bone. And it most certainly, did not look human.

Sanford started moving towards the row of chairs before this sickly array- in the darkness, he glanced left and right- and strewn on the edges of all sides of the chamber, were unlit, expended wax candles- sat atop rocks, or the dirt of the floor.

The Deathclaw and Hancock said nothing, they wordlessly followed him.

"Oh mon Dieu'..." She muttered lowly. "Sanford. We should leave."

"Not yet."

"Sanford, please."

He stopped right before the right flank of the chairs- turned around and saw her yellow eyes, wide to him.

"I need to know."

"It may not be worth it, mon ami'."

"I need to know, and if I can, I need to destroy it."

"But we don't even know what IT is."

Sanford didn't respond- he angled his head up, and took a quick look about the yawning blackness of the chamber's unseen roof. He glanced at the rounded walls all around them- he determined the source of light.

There was a concrete arch- a miracle down here for them- and there was a small pile of metal crates at its flank, topped with a dying lantern on the gray box at the height of the stack.

Sanford squinted- he turned back to the stone figure, the statue- behind the bloodied altar- he finished rounding the chairs and soon stood directly before the concrete piece.

It was indeed blood that was dried all over the thing. Horrible. Looked like whoever was unfortunate enough to be up here was gutted like a pig.

 ** _pm_**

-His boot nudged something on the floor.

He stopped short, a gear creaking in his suit- he looked down, and Sanford cringed.

It was a body. Hidden in the shadows, just ahead of the chairs- he hadn't even noticed it, too transfixed on the altar setup.

The remains were mostly skeletal- MOSTLY, because some of the organic matter was stringed across the gray bones in dusty, sprawling inconsistencies of decay and olden rot.

The corpse looked like it had been here for months- the point where the flies finally stopped, but there was still some rubbery garbage left to rot away. There were still clothes on this corpse- and they looked... Odd, out of period.

It was a colonial overcoat- once a navy blue.

Sanford looked at the poor man's head.

His face was barely audible from its side-strewn position on the ground, head turned rightwards- there was the grayed, shriveled remains of an eye in the right socket- the left was dark. The man's mouth was wide open, almost unhinged- filled with dark teeth, some having fallen out.

Sanford saw a weapon lying on the ground, long, a rifle.

He stepped back from the corpse to examine it from a greater distance- and he saw that the butt and handle of the gun were buried beneath the hip of the fallen man- and look-wise, the gun was weird, but... Sanford knew the design.

A crank on the back, a battery-charged projection tube and power-pack chamber, a thin barrel...

It was a Laser Musket.

This person had been a Minuteman.

"...What the hell..."

"Cap'n? More over here!" Hancock called from a position by the concrete arch at the chamber's flank- Sanford managed to tear his viewing of the cadaver for a brief second to glance at his robotic companion.

Hancock levitated by a corner near the archway- he pointed down at the ground with his Plasma gun, and bundled there were three other bodies- Sanford didn't need to get close to see they were in the same state, and clothing, as the one he faced.

"This one has a lantern," The Deathclaw stopped locking her eyes to the altar, and tread over to the bodies Hancock had discovered- she pointed down. "I think we've found who has been leaving them, monsieur'."

"But that's not possible," Sanford said. "The lamps we're finding are all still lit, and these... These bodies, I just- LOOK at them. They have to be a decade or more old, I-I just... I don't..."

Sanford huffed, and the Deathclaw didn't respond with anything more than a glance away from him, and to the bodies before her.

Sanford stepped over the Laser Musket draped beside the fallen militiaman- he stood before the altar- and he looked at the stone statue right behind it.

It emerged from the earth on a thin, cylindrical pedestal- still encrusted with dirt at its bottom and down its sides- there were marks all over the previously pristine and shiny stone, probably from shovels being used to dig it out more precisely.

The statue depicted a humanoid, but not human- creature. It had bare flesh, muscular- two legs, two arms- each arm raised with hands upturned, as if praising something unseen in the center of the chamber.

The normal human-like qualities were all but gone to its head- it resembled some strange cross of reptile and mammal- Sanford couldn't describe it. It was kind of crocodilian, but it had fur... And it had a bovine-like shape to it... Soulless eyes made from darker, rounded stone.

Sanford was just noticing that- the entire statue looked like it was made of limestone, pretty bland, all one color- but the eyes looked like reflective onyx. They were big, buggy- kind of like the eyes he had seen in pictures of baby alligators when he was a child pre-War.

...Was this, Calth?

Was THAT, Calth?

Was the statue Calth? Or was the statue OF Calth?

Sanford rolled his jaw- he bowed his head, and he listened to the ringing silence of the chamber.

He discovered it no longer was entirely silent.

Just clawing at the back of his hearing, faintly, so low that he almost didn't hear it... Whispering, muttering.

Voices. Tens of them.

What in God's name has these foolish people dug up? What WAS this? This was bad news.

"...Hancock," Sanford muttered- he glanced over his pauldron as the robot pepped up in attention. "Dig in your storage compartment, find me an explosive."

"An explosive? What for, sir?"

"Give me a damn explosive."

"WHY, sir?"

"I'm destroying this statue."

"...Demonic result of Hercules fucking an alligator-cow? Check. Unknown temperature signatures radiating throughout said statue? CHECK! Need of purging said obvious occult-shit with holy fire? ...Right-o! Explosive coming up!"

Sanford watched the statue- he turned back to it, and he kept his eyes locked on the black orbs, the black, onyx orbs that made its own unliving eyes.

They glistened- like rolling marbles. Sanford could swear they were quivering.

Whatever this 'Calth' was, it was evil. It had driven the Haven Corps from these tunnels, it was what had obviously caused these Minutemen to die. Sanford didn't know how they had gotten into the tunnels, or how they'd ended up in here- but there was no weapon he'd ever heard of that...

-He looked back over his shoulder at the rotted corpse by the foot of the altar.

...-That did THAT, to people.

"...Hello... What have we here..." Sanford bent down when he looked back at the altar- there was a sliver of reflective light by the altar's foot.

The armor whined as his helmet became low enough to perceive detail- lying on the ground, was a blade, but it wasn't just any kind of blade... It was a full fledged sword.

Not a machete, not a combat knife, not a cleaver... It was a colonial era, silver-hilt, black-handled, curved-bladed sword- almost like a cutlass, except thicker at the business end.

Sanford assumed it belonged to the Minuteman lying dead here- an officer's blade, he knew higher ranks in the militia wielded cutlasses that were electrically or laser powered... This sword must have been one of those types.

...That meant it was a good weapon.

Sanford looked up at the statue.

The sheen of the eyes, the reflection- wasn't the same as it had been when he first looked at it. The whole of the statue remained still, though.

Sanford snorted- daring it, albeit -he gripped the hilt of the blade, where it clanged metallically from the disturbance in movement.

Sanford brought the sword around, and flipped it horizontally in his grasp.

 ** _whmwhmwhm-CLINK_** -He caught it by the handle, mid-air before it spun out. He felt brave- he underhand tossed the whole weapon into the air over his head.

 ** _whhm! whm-whm-_**

-It flipped tip over hilt twice, and then descended with a flicker of brightness against the shadows.

 ** _whm-whm-CLINK!_**

-Caught it, gauntlet fingers over the handle, tight grip.

Sanford liked it.

"MONSIEUR'!"

"Jeez'! Do you have to yel-"

" _AAUUuuggghhhGGHHhhh..._ "

Sanford went wide eyed- he spun around, and presented the blade of the sword in a horizontal leftwards slash- in a quick U-turn.

 ** _swssk-SLK!_**

-Flesh parted repulsively- the sword ate through from one end of the hip and parted through the other.

Two halves raggedly flew to the ground, arms raised, legs standing rigidly still- dust and gray flecks of destroyed organic matter flinging leftwards.

Sanford stood with the sword presented by his side- and glanced down at his fallen assailant.

...It was the Minuteman that he had stepped over. Now, he was a foot away from where he had been laying, and in two halves- the one good eye in his socket looked wide, jaws open in a silent scream for mercy.

The Deathclaw was by his side- she HAD been right as he slashed the thing.

"M-Monsieur'? It was a Ghoul." She reasoned.

Sanford looked at her- he looked at Hancock as he flew over with a fragmentation grenade clenched in his claw- and then he turned around to look at the statue.

"-Whatthe?!"

The arms were lowered.

"GIMME'THATFUCKIN'GRENADERIGHTNOW!" Sanford snatched it out of Hancock's claw, unpinned it, and clapped it between the human feet of the statue, right on the pedestal.

 ** _fffwwhHHMMMMMM_**

-All three gazed to the stone archway they had taken to get to this point.

A second of whipping, blue light bloomed from the ceiling above, as again, the Enclave flooded the unknown with flame to burn them out.

"RUN!" Sanford cried.

Man and Deathclaw sprinted, and one robot flew- all for their lives as flame vomited from the arch in the back of the chamber, and spread like ooze across all of one side of the chamber- illuminating everything a bright hue of aqua.

They ran through the arch- and Sanford found, as he stopped in the darkness just past it- that there was a bulkhead, opened, against the wall in this new tunnel they needed to escape through.

"DEATHCLAW! HELP ME CLOSE IT!"

She ran back for him- he wrapped his gauntlets on the metal rim, and she her clawed hands- together they pushed, the door protested with moaning creaks of titanium.

It shifted, and Hancock joined the pushing efforts by shoving the side of his chassis into the door's girth beside his comrades- thruster screaming.

The trio eventually stumbled away as the door swung for a final shutting in the concrete archway.

Regaining his footing, Sanford saw into the chamber for a second before the flames ate everything right outside the archway.

There was a vaguely humanoid shadow that flicked into the light, and then vanished in the fire- still, as if frozen by his stare through the diminishing crack. It was safe to say, that the figure's stance was far from the pedestal they had observed.

The door shut.

 ** _BMMMM_**

-Then fire caressed the other side, unable to get at them.

 ** _whhhmmmmm-WHMMMMMmmmmmm..._**

-Then there was silence.

They heard water dripping- and the only other sound besides that, was Sanford and the Deathclaw's heavy breathing, and the whistle of Hancock's thruster unit.

"...I can't believe we fell for the dead-body trick again! ANOTHER Ghoul! Damn them!" Hancock ranted after a minute. "Let's not do that again, eh?"

"...It wasn't a Ghoul." Sanford grumbled, turning around to contemplate yet ANOTHER place that they had been forced into- lest his further troubled mind forget their overall objective of escape.

The good news was, he was pretty confident that the THING, wasn't escaping with them. His grip on the sword tightened, and then relaxed. He magnetically stuck it to his hip.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

 ** _CLKCLCKL_**

 ** _CLK_**

 ** _CLKMMMmmmm_**

-She hated sewer grates.

They just reminded her of less desirable instances in her life.

So she was perfectly happy to shoulder-slam the thing from their path as they reached the end of a metallic, rounded tunnel that had branched for an end that had light from the day outside.

The grate snapped right off it's own bolt heads- it clattered away into a small ditch of moist soil below, and the Deathclaw gripped the rims of the apparent pipe they had gone down- and looked out into the surface world.

The hills were on either side of her- the ditch below was literally a hop's height away- and she heard nor saw any presence of the Enclave.

"Clear." She said- she stepped out of the pipe's torn-open mouth, and rattled the fallen grate cap when her clawed feet further pressed it against the moist dirt of the ditch around them.

She stepped back as Sanford ducked through after her, and thudded onto the metal she had just vacated- **_CHM-CHM_** -he dented the cap in on itself a tad, chuckled, and watched as Hancock flew out of the pipe to levitate beside him.

Sanford looked at the two of them, then he looked at the sky- nodded in satisfaction.

"You know, we were almost killed by a rabid Enclave officer, the Enclave in general, and we almost got eaten by a demon," He listed. Hancock didn't even have comment for that.

Sanford smiled at them.

"-And it was literally, the coolest fucking shit I have partaken in, in years. We make a good team."

"The squad of bad-assness! HOO-RAH! Steak and Eggs when we get home!" Hancock cheered.

"I'm just glad we're alive, monsieur'." The Deathclaw sighed.

"Let's get out of here before the Enclave start running heat sigs' again- through the woods, harder to see us." Sanford pointed to the west.

In a few moments, they were walking farther and farther away from the accursed site, of Springs Quarry, back into the hills of the daytime Commonwealth. The Enclave Vertibirds never saw them- as, not only were their pilots too focused on hovering over the tunnel arches back into the quarry... Their scanning equipment was getting strange resistance to local sweeps.

Must have been a glitch from all the dust kicked up by their propellers.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	36. Chapter 36

**CHAPTER 36**

 **Residential? Commercial? What's the difference?**

* * *

Sanford had been exposed to some pretty beautiful sights in the overall ugly Wasteland- most of them, of course, were figurative- seeing as nobody had really figured a way to make the blasted places of the world look in the least bit pleasing in a physical sense.

The world was filled with a plethora of things- certainly there were terrible things, there were bad things, but Sanford had been traveling long enough to realize that, beneath the rough and inhospitable exterior of the world, there were still good happenings, it wasn't entirely hopeless.

For the few people that Sanford had had full blown conversations with in his adult life- they were part of his limited audience and speakers at the same time, for these sort of scenes- because the beautiful things were usually tied to them knowing Sanford in the first place.

Sanford, when he had met the Ghouls in the urban development a day or two now, prior- had mentioned a Doctor Higgins, to Gerald as they conversed for the brief time they did, and Doctor Higgins was one of these people to Sanford.

His first name was Joe, but, for a reason he never disclosed, he hated being referred to by his first name- he preferred his last name- Higgins, with 'Doctor'- in front of it, being preferrable. After all, good old Joe had earned his right for such pleasentries with the settlers he traveled alongside.

Higgins was good at what he did, probably one of the best- those settlers made caps when people came from all across the Wasteland to seek aid from Higgins- and he was happy to help, sometimes free of charge in certain instances.

Sanford had helped him save people before- as, when they first met, all Sanford got out of the guy was that he was a short, slightly hunched, elderly man with pale skin, pure white sideburns and a bald head- and that he didn't talk much.

They sealed a sort of friendship by helping people- Sanford found that the ultimate thing to form bonds between people were sharing passions- and Higgins had an undeniable passion for saving people, for helping people.

"I don't use no guns, no blades, no words- I'm just the docta'," Higgins always said when quizzed. "I don't like seein' folk hurt, so I fix 'em, and I always fix 'em right. Ain't no people enterin' my office and leavin' still broken, we don't do tha' here."

"How many people have you saved that ended up doing something bad in return?"

-Sanford felt like such a prick after asking that question, years ago- and nowadays he would admit he asked it with a bit of spite, resentment for just how secure Higgins was with WHO he was, and how he did what he did every day.

"I dunno', two or three," Higgins shrugged. "Don't matta'. I didn' make 'em do what they did. That's their choice."

"But it was yours to save someone like that."

"Do I look' like God, to you, Tobs? Real God? What does God look like? Do you know? You don't. Do I know? I don't. So what fuckin' right do I have ta' play his cards?"

"But you choose to save people, when they should've been dead."

"...That ain't playin' God..." Higgins grumbled. "Naw', not playin' God... Basic responsibility, Tobs, RESPONSIBILITY, as a fella' human bein'. Learn that well. Remember it."

Sanford did remember it.

He really should've visited Higgins again, he was a good man. Stubborn, short tempered... But he put up with Sanford's guff, Sanford supposed his turn ought to be up.

Maybe Gerald and Fred would join that group... Odds are they were, seeing as their lab had been totalled, and they had nowhere else to go.

"Oh, look at that, Han', it's beautiful!" Sanford put emphasis on the word when the time came- he held an arm aloft, and in the evening sunset, his shadow contrasted against the beaming rays of flaming light that shown from the ball of fire setting on the horizon.

The Gas Station was just at the center of this giant ball of illumination that covered and painted the distance a plethora of oranges, reds and yellows, pinks and faded blues- the towering rocketship sign protruding from the top of the rain cover for the pumps stood higher as if to greet them.

"I'll check all the systems, sir! HOO-RAH! I'M HOME, DUMPLIN'!" Hancock shot past him, across a paved road, and up to the same old keycode-locked gate that they had left closed days ago.

Watching the robot click the code in the hidden panel, put the adhesive-coated cap back on- Sanford chuckled as comments of loose underpants flew into the evening, the gate was parted, and Hancock flew inside the walled property.

"Home sweet home." Sanford laughed.

"This is your home, monsieur'?" The Deathclaw gathered by his side, and blinked at the building- the array of motion turrets that gridded the roof and the pump-shade cover's top.

"That it is, Hancock's just going to submit your vitals to the security systems so those, uhm... Those guns," Sanford gestured up at them from the distance. "So they don't shoot at you when you come close."

"Comforting." She sighed. "Does it sound like I'm overdoing it, if I said I'm tired, again, monsieur'?"

"Surviving a quarry like that? Plus the all day walk? Not at all." Sanford reassured. "I'm beat too. I haven't slept in my matt in a WEEK, jeez'."

"...Monsieur', you said that there was some kind of water-based structure in your home... A bath?"

"Yes! Woo! Do I need one, I REEK." Sanford looked over at her, and he noticed her fiddling with her claws. He smiled patiently. "...You know, you don't have to ask, just don't go crazy with the water. Sometimes it doesn't rain for awhile."

"Appreciated, mon ami', very appreciated." She smiled at him- bowed her head, and bumped his shoulder with the side of one of her horns. "When you're done being a Guide' toristique', show me this two-hundred year old home of yours."

"Oh, that place? You want to see it?" He grinned. "Alright, sure."

" _All clear now, sir! BRING IN THE LIZARD!_ " -Came after a quick garble of static from his helmet's interior as Hancock used the same device that could've technically reunited them earlier from when they had been seperated.

-Though, they would've needed to be closer. So, maybe not entirely. Didn't matter now.

"Alright, c'mon, Han' rewired the turrets."

"Mm."

Even though she trusted his word- she still was glaring at the rotating guns that swiveled silently from custom-built mountings all along the building's dual roofs- she was afraid one of them would spontaneously start shooting.

Though as they crossed the paved road, side stepped the crumbled remains of a rusted guard rail- the guns remained silent, and Sanford's suit whirred noisily as he ducked through the gate frame of the wooden and metal stockade that sealed the property in.

She had to admit, while crude- it was effective- the walls were sturdy, and when she squeezed through the frame after him, she saw the concrete plat that the rain-cover was stilted over on the building's side, where vehicles used to refuel- and that kept things from coming underground.

"It took me and Han' ages to get this place the way it is," Sanford sighed happily as he stood next to the doorframe into the station's main building- he scanned about a makeshift garden, a large, lightly rattling machine that was by the side of a former cafe window of the building. "That's our power generator."

"What does it run on, monsieur'?" She asked, standing beside him and looking about these things that had apparently kept Sanford going for almost a decade out here.

"Solar. We have panels on the roof of the rain cover," He pointed up. "It's always so arid out here, that the thing can keep going for a few days without light. Pretty neat, huh?"

"Mm."

"Where'd the robot go now...?" Sanford glanced about. "Han'? Where are you?"

" _NOWHERE!_ " -Came from the rear of the building- where Sanford knew the garage door for the main shack was.

"Your pet crows missed you, huh? The bread didn't go stale?"

" _...SHUT YOUR MOUTH!_ "

"Ah-ha, good old Han'."

"Crows, mon ami'?" She asked, musing.

"Hancock would never admit that he has a soft side- he has a whole flock of scavenger birds that show up here every now and again, give's them bread."

"Shocking, for a being of his caliber."

"Oh yes."

"...And, how long have you..."

"-Lived here?" He finished for her. "A long time. Years, not the whole time I've been in the wastes, but, most of it. So... What do you think? Anticlimactic for how much we've talked about it? Really neat? What?"

"I've only settled in a place once in my life, monsieur'," She said. "I think any community where people work together is a good thing, even if it's only two, now, three, I suppose."

She continued to observe about the simple property with an intrigued glistening in her flaming, bright eyes- her expression was subtle, a meek smile, over mostly monotone.

Sanford nodded at her feedback- he followed her gaze to the garden, the generator- and then they both turned and looked into the ajar doorframe of the station's little shack- the building that Sanford and Hancock had called home.

Sanford blinked- held a finger up for her.

"Hold on, I'm getting out of the armor." -Then he stepped through the frame with a tiny whine of the gears in his suit's hip-section- as he had to duck a tad to avoid clocking his headgear's cranium on the top rim.

Sanford vanished inside the shady interior- and for a moment of silence in this new place, the Deathclaw was left to stand in the dull light inside the little fortified place.

These walls that Sanford had built on all sides of the property made it look like a little rectangle of isolation- besides the obvious safety they provided, the only thing she didn't like about the station was that it was really, really... Small.

Truthfully, she was a bit smaller than most of her kind- her pack mates far in the past had told her that it was a common thing with members of their enlightened kind- something about trading instinct for intellect- though she personally thought it was bull'.

She was still looking about the place- mostly held in shade from the reddened sky above, and from the gaze of the sun as it set in the distance. She peered through the crack between the top of the walls and the pump-shade roof of the station's side.

Held aloft by two stripped pillars of titanium- this cover had once served as the base for a quadruple set of 'Gas Pumps'- near mythical things that humans had used in a sort of- 'Golden Age'- before the Earth was ruined, to refuel automobiles.

She found the picture hard to form in her head- as every single machine that Sanford said was fueled by these pumps- all the cars, the trucks- they were rusted, and ruined... She didn't know what a working ground vehicle looked like.

Sanford said that the wheels were kind of like the ones she had seen on the artillery piece being towed by the Minutemen during that close call on the railroad tracks- but there were gasoline powered engines that made the wheels turn without the chassis being pulled or towed.

The idea was fascinating, if not a bit far fetched, to her.

The Deathclaw felt that tickling energy in herself again- the emotions -the ones she liked that Sanford brought back- things she hadn't felt since her time in the pack.

Her pack had been wiped out by the Enclave, because they eventually found her.

...They would eventually find her here too.

...They'd burn this place. They'd burn the loudmouthed robot, they'd burn Sanford.

Suddenly, her good mood was dumbed down. She frowned.

"Alright, I'm back!" Sanford practically hopped out from the archway behind her- he was in... Regular clothing. That was new.

"No protective armor, monsieur'?" She observed, turning, scrutinizing him with a curious stare.

Sanford shrugged and patted his chest with his gloved hand.

"Stuff gets stuffy- eh? -And besides, I'm tired of being metal-man for today... I have to come out of the suit sometimes."

"...I can SMELL why..." She half chuckled and grimaced at the same time- her nostrils compressing to her snout. "Oh, mon ami', you DO need a bathing hour or two."

"...Ugh," Sanford angled his head down and agreed with a wince. "Yep. Smells like death- my old man would say that- 'It smells like DEATH in here, Sanford! DAMN!' -Ha! I can see his face."

"Hmhm." She sounded muffled as she put a claw over her snout.

"Alright-alright, I'll BATHE, gosh," Sanford melodramatically joked. "Take a look around, I'll be fixing my stench."

" _...NOTHING, fixes monkey-stench, Mr. Baboon!_ "

Sanford huffed.

"I'll be inside. You wanna' try the bath after me?"

"...Will I... Fit? Mon ami'?" She quizzed.

"Yeah, you should be able to- maybe a bit of a squeeze, but, I think you'll be good."

"Mm."

"Be back in a bit."

"DO take your time..."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

There was this big aluminum contraption- a different one from the generator -that was built along the back of the building, and had three gathering funnels that protruded from its top, fed into pipes, and then into a makeshift filter that Sanford had found on a swimming pool.

The water went into a tank underneath the foundation of the shack- where it was stored, and connected to a tub and shower line that Hancock had actually found, one time during a trip through Boston city.

Before they had made the shower and the filter- Sanford mostly relied on trying to wash himself in ponds, or in rivers- like the one that flowed close by to his old house. That of course, resulted in more then one instance of being jumped by Mirelurks, and the like, so... The shower was a better option, by far.

There was a little bathroom that Sanford had gutted, it was attached to the rectangular room he slept in, the one with his mattress, all of his personal belongings- he had originally been planning to put in an auxiliary generator or some other extra power system... Instead, the need to eradicate his stench drove him to put the shower together.

So, now out of the armor- Sanford stepped through a tiled doorframe, and into the aluminum, shiny bowl of the main tub- with a gleeming showerhead hanging directly zenith above his cranium.

There was a pulley that hung beside the head- and Sanford was smiling in anticipation to actually getting himself somewhat clean after almost a week without anything to go on.

He was naked- and the mostly detail-lacking little cell that the tub was in was perfect for the isolation he preferred for such things- that any NORMAL person would prefer for such things. The cool air inside the station was a change from the arid temperatures outside- it felt weird, but pleasing against his skin.

He turned a crank that was roughly bolted into the grimy tile of the wall by the tub's right flank- that was for the heating- and he snatched up a bottle of soap, the brand-lable long gone, the cap yellowed from age.

Sanford reached up and slowly yanked the pulley down.

He was graced with steam flooding the tub as lukewarm water trickled out, and then released fully in a soft fall- it descended across his dirt-matted face, down his shoulders, across his healed chest- the water felt amazing.

Sanford wasted a good minute just taking in the feeling- soon, there was a ghostly fog consuming the two chambers, he uncapped the soap and started working as best he could to get himself smelling less like a pile of dead skunks.

Most of the dirt and grime was easy to get off- and after a few more minutes, he had drained the first bottle, fumbled with a grasping hand outside the tub, and picked up another spare that was seated by the tub's top left foot.

They had never found any shampoo, or face wash, or anything specific like that- you know, pleasantries that people NOT in a constant survival situation could live with- so Sanford pretty much had to use the same kind of soap, just plain old body wash, for everything.

Not that it was BAD, it was better than nothing. Listen, he'd rather have some form of cleaning chemical than nothing at all. Soap was soap, he'd live, even if sometimes it dried out his scalp- he and Hancock would have to go to the Super-Duper Mart down in the city again, see if any conditioner or something was lying around...

Post-War grocery shopping. Huh.

At least it was free.

...If you could find it, and if someone didn't shoot you for it.

But it was free! So, ha!

Smiling at the anthology- Sanford finished up after maybe twenty minutes- the last of the dirty water vanished in a small tornado-like extension down into the drain of the tub, where it would be met by the series of filters, recycled back into the rain tank.

Sanford would have to remember to throw in more tablets for the filter outside. That's what was keeping the water constantly reusable, after all.

He stepped out into the steamy, cool air of the bathroom cell- he grabbed up a towel and started working it across his arms, his legs, humming to himself.

After just one wash, he already felt a million times better- he still kind of reeked, but, a few more showers and that would hopefully stop.

Using a knuckle to twist the towel's edge through his ear, he stepped into his makeshift bedroom, and stood beside his mattress- peering over it, at the iron shelves that were built into the wall on the rear right side of the room- the little display place he didn't look at a lot.

There were some old broken military models that were on the shelf, things he had salvaged from his old house- his father's wristwatch was there, and some pieces of his mother's jewelry.

Sanford stepped around the side of the mattress, and he looked across all of the stuff he had lined up, neatly. The plastic military vehicles, that all were broken, or missing parts in some way shape or form... The dulled gold of a pair of rings, a thin chain-band necklace, and the rusty silver of his father's watch, forever stuck at the time of the day when the nuke had dropped.

Sanford bent lower and looked at the arms- the minute arm was on '2', the second a little after it, and the hour on '8'.

...So, what was that, again? He remembered, but he couldn't remember it now specifically, all of a sudden...

Ah.

8:20. AM.

That had been when his life was forever changed.

A time capsule, almost- if not one that Sanford could only access, because everything that watch reminded him survived only through his memory, his heart.

Sanford sighed, he ran a finger down the side of the little contraption- all that rust, good grief, his father would've had a fit! Ha!

...If it mattered anymore. By this point, if his old man was still alive, he'd just be happy to see his son.

He remembered what the Deathclaw had said- that maybe his parents WERE possibly out there, and that, maybe they were alive. Sanford had already had this internal debate enough, the usual stuff he tormented himself with- all the - 'What would they say?' -crap.

But, really, what WOULD they?

He was a man now, he was almost six feet tall, he was stronger, he was smarter, he cursed like a truck driver and he shot people almost every other day of the week...

Little Sanford, the boy with the same friends, the same parents his whole life, the boy with the little rural house in New England, the boy who was innocent and didn't even understand the prospect of how cruel other people could be...

Had turned into-

...He looked down at his chest, at his stomach, his legs, his genitals, his feet, he raised his hands up to his eyes...

-Had turned into this.

...Wow.

Looking back on it was an experience too. Maybe it was better if he didn't do it.

Sanford threw the towel over his shoulder- he turned around and went to head back towards the bathroom-

"OHGOD! W-WHA'?!"

The Deathclaw stood in the doorway, and her expression was unreadable.

A good moment passed with sheer stupefaction rattling around through Sanford's system- his eyes were wide, mouth open, arms on either side of him.

The Deathclaw was at a similar loss of what to do- because, actually, the only reason this was awkward for her was because she knew humans wore clothes to cover up the same stuff she and her packmates had been perfectly comfortable with allowing the breeze to hit whenever they walked around.

So, seeing Sanford naked was weird for her- but against her better judgement, she couldn't exactly say she regretted it. Although, Sanford's opinion, was questionable.

There were no words up until this interval, mind you- Sanford just looked at her, gawking, and she just blinked at him, neutral.

Eventually, she tore her eyes from his, and glanced downwards at him- examining for a second, she nodded, and gave off a- 'Hm.' -of satisfactory understanding.

Sanford flinched, looked down at himself- and snatched the towel off his shoulder to bundle it, two-handed, over his crotch.

"Well, grand garcon', now I know." She smiled.

"-Is-Is that so?" Sanford stuttered.

"Oui'."

"...Can you, like, uhm... You know... LEAVE? Please?"

"Oh, certainly, mon ami', I wouldn't wish to impose." She snickered- flicking her fingers in the most unbelievably provocative wave of departure he had seen from her. As if to make the point- her tail arced in the doorframe longer than it should have.

Sanford stood in the gradually lowering mist of his room, blinked a few times, and scrambled back towards the bathroom- tying the towel around his waste.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Later on, he changed into new clothes, threw the old ones in a bucket to be washed later- and found Hancock working on something in the garage.

"-H-Hey man, what're you doing?" Sanford smiled sheepishly- coming into the garage through the side entrance from the lobby.

Hancock looked up with one ocu-lense from where he had been focusing on Sanford's X-01 armor that was hung in the wrack they had salvaged from the same APC a week ago.

"Well, the good news is, sir, no systems are critically damaged!" Hancock proudly proclaimed. "The bad news is, I dunno' how long it's gonna' take to fix the cuirass, but you've got THREE breaches! THREE! Where the hell do we even find parts for that?!"

"Damn... I don't know, Han'. You think there were any spare parts in the APC? I found another helmet back there, but..."

"None that we saw, sir! And we're THOROUGH! Like Wipes!"

"...Right."

"Sir, I think you might have to deal with some, er... HANDICAPS, for awhile, eh?"

"The suit's kept me alive this long," Sanford stepped beside the robot- he ran a hand down the blackened, twisted gash that had kind of merged with the wrenched one below it to form a mauling on the breastplate. "I'll see if I can seal it with some plating... We have any steel left over? I know we have copper."

"All the brittle shit!" Hancock ranted- he zipped over to one of the trunks they had laying around the garage section- the lid flicked open with such force that the entire piece shook.

Hancock mumbled all kinds of obscenities- his claw dashed inside, slapped around all kinds of flaps of metals they had collected over the years- objects that could be melted down, cut up, a pile of resources that Sanford used in repairing weapons most of the time.

"It's all these stupid car parts, I tell ya'!"

"Well those are steel, those will work."

"B-But, SIR!"

"...What?"

"Some of them came from-" Hancock made an exasperated gasp, and held up a hubcap in his claw, all three ocu-lenses focusing on Sanford's face. "-from-VOLKSWAGON!"

"...I'm sorry, what?" Sanford shook his head. "I don't even understand what you're-"

"THEY'RE NAZI-MOBILES, SIR! TAINTED, POISONED METAL!"

"...You do understand, that, World War 2 is, like, nearly four hundred years in the past... right?"

"NAZI-MOBILES!"

"Guess I did- Nazi -that coming. Ha! Eh? Get it?"

"..."

"...Fine. Be that way, robo-douche'."

"You deserve the Nazi-tainted metal, just for that!" Hancock underhand tossed the cap at Sanford, who barely caught it with his right.

"...Okay, sure. I deserve the tainted metal, right on." Sanford nodded sarcastically as Hancock zipped out of the garage, and left him pondering the authenticity of the robot's statements that he was in control of his insanity.

Shaking his head, he stepped over to the trunk and dumped the hubcap back into it, where it clattered among all the metal inside- he used his foot to shut the lid.

"So this is your working area, monsieur'?" The Deathclaw leaned in from the doorframe that Hancock had vanished out of- she didn't meet his gaze, but he had his brows narrowed acussingly- the incident prior still fresh in his mind.

She noticed him staring at her silently, and she shrugged- he took observation that she was smiling this whole time- her reptilian chops curled upwards.

"Is there something wrong, mon ami'?" She practically chirped.

"Oh, gee', yeah, NOTHING," He shrugged. "Except that not everyone likes having their junk examined!"

"T'was an accident, monsieur'," She said with mocked exasperation. "If it's worth anything to you, I'll admit I like what I saw."

Sanford cocked his head at her.

...Really now?

That was... Interesting. Disturbing.

He could guess her angle, but, he didn't bother- he just chewed his tongue, inhaled, and responded with-

"-That's not funny."

"Quite the contrary, VERY interesting though," She laughed, leaning on the frame with her shoulder- she ground the sides of her nails together on both her finger sets. "Different from one of my kind's."

"How would you know?"

"I'm an adult, monsieur'."

"...Sure, I respect that. You and this guy you've told me about not have a platonic relationship?"

"Why does it matter to you?"

"..."

"Mmmm. Caught, are we?"

"Eyeing the monkey, are we?"

"It's like you said, monsieur', we only live once. I regret nothing for admitting that with pride." She crossed her arms over her belly, tail flicking over her right ankle.

"...Alright, that's... Great?"

"Mm."

"...Why?"

"Why what, monsieur'?"

"Why are you telling me this?"

"It would be wrong not to, in my eyes."

"So then explain to me what it is."

"Sexual tension? Really?"

"So that's what this is? Sexual tension?"

"Mmmm... Maybe." She aluded.

"...Hm."

"Mm?"

"...So, um... What's a Deathclaw dick look like?"

"A little less ugly, darker, retractable."

"Ugh! Christ! What the shit?!"

"Hmhm." She mused at him. "...You never answered my other question, monsieur'."

"What?"

"What does my past matter to you? I thought I was just the big lizard, you had pas'd'interet'?"

"Am I not allowed to ask?"

"Sur'."

"...Okay, so... Off you go, tell me."

"Tell ME."

"Tell you what?"

"Why. Does. It. Matter?"

"...You know what, I don't even know how this-THIS," He gestured for her, and then him. "I don't even know how something like that would work, girl."

"What if we discovered it could work?"

"Then- I-I... I... I dunno'."

"..." She looked down and filed her claws together, her tail was still, draped by her side. "...If I answer your question, would it affect your answer to mine?"

"...No."

"Non'?"

"No. Because it's not right to."

"...The answer is no, monsieur', he was blown to pieces before I could ever touch him." She still wasn't looking at him- her thin, yellow eyes narrowed. "...I understand what I am, I understand what you are. But... But monsieur', I live in a world where almost anything is possible.

I see something in this, I don't know if it's long term, or goes past something I can entirely explain. I... I could use more poetic words, romance' connerie'... But I like you."

"...So you would be willing to open yourself up in that kind of way, to a guy you only know a week? A guy who's a smelly monkey? Not even the same species?"

She shrugged lightly.

Sanford realized he was still standing by the front of the trunk he and Hancock had been sifting through. He looked down at it, and sighed heavily.

His life was pretty much just a boring continuance of the motions anyway... They really hit it off, it was the most insane thing he could've ever thought to be suggested, but, than again, she was pretty spot on- this was the same Earth that had been nuked and survived for two-hundred years.

"You know, listen," Sanford said. That at least got her to look at him again. "I will be the first to admit, that there are some, very, VERY serious, physical things about us, that not only make the whole thing harder to comprehend, but could also result in one of us getting hurt, just remember that.

I'll also admit, that for me, it would be hard to adjust to, and I think the idea of that would be hard for YOU to adjust to as well, I mean... I'm basically a walking monkey, and you're basically a walking crocodile, like, let's be honest,"

Her shoulders hopped with laughter- she grinned at him.

"-But, in the time I've known you, I think I've got a somewhat accurate idea, of who you are as a person, and... If you want to start, to try and work our way up to something like that? What you're considering? I would be willing to try."

"...Work our way up? Explain that to me, monsieur'."

"I think you know," He smiled. "Let's just keep learning about each other. Give it time. I would be willing to try that first, before anything else."

"...Mm."

"Does that sound, reasonable? To you?"

"...Sur'. Sur', it does, monsieur'."

"Good. So let's just keep doing what we're doing. Okay?"

"...Okay."

"Did you see if you could fit into the shower?"

"...I can't fit into it, monsieur', too small."

"Huh... I used to use the river by my house, maybe when we're done looking around, I'll give you some soap, give it a try?"

"I've never used that chemical before, monsieur'."

"Stuff works great! I don't smell like a pile of horse crap anymore BECAUSE of soap."

"...Yes, perhaps, a diminished, pile of shit, monsieur'."

"...Ouch."

"Hmhm."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	37. Chapter 37

**CHAPTER 37**

 **A Dead World.**

* * *

There was a winding road that made a rounded few twists and turns up an incline in the land. It ended in a two-way intersection- in one direction, there was a culdesac with five houses, all blown out, holes in the roofs, shingles and flaps from the structuring laying everywhere around them.

The other way lead straight down a street that was lined with houses, and halfway down that street, there was a two-story, white painted home, with drab colored wooden shutters, shattered windows, a roof of navy blue shingles, rippled, chipped everywhere.

There was an underloft that acted in the stead of a garage at the end of the driveway- the rusted corpse of a sedan lain to stillness and final resting in its shady interior. The front door was gone, not even strewn to destruction inside the house- and the floor was littered with pieces of plaster and wood.

Sanford left the Gas Station without his X-01 suit, much to the Deathclaw's surprise- and she trekked beside him for a walk that only lasted a mere five minutes, at best. They followed the paved road that passed the station's flank for a bit, turned onto the winding road.

When they reached the straight shot breaking from that- it was only a minute more before Sanford was standing before his old life again- and the same surreal aura grasped him, even after a decade.

"There it is." He said, lowering the submachine gun he was carrying, and slinging it over his back- beside his rucksack- stuff he had to carry the OLD way, since his armor wasn't present. "That's my house."

"This one?" The Deathclaw stood beside him, center the bare, paved road, just before the curb- she pointed her knuckle at the building.

"That's it. Pretty boring, huh?"

"Non', not boring, monsieur', I wouldn't know if you hadn't told me."

"Well, I mean, who would? Nobody would know you like I do at first glance."

"Mm."

"...Though, come to think of it- look at it this way, every house on this block has its own story, its own people. You know, you look at it and your first reaction is- 'Oh, it's just another house'- but, there were families just like mine in all of them at one point."

"Intriguing to consider, mon ami'."

"...Hey, do I still stink?"

"A tiny touch of citrus, monsieur', very pleasing."

"Citrus? Damn, I thought the bottle I got was more cologne-like..."

"-'Cologne'- isn't that a city, monsieur'?"

"Well, YES, but it's the name for those spray bottles guys use to smell better."

"How does that work, mon ami'?"

"How should I know?" He shrugged- stepping up onto the sidewalk- he gestured for her to follow.

There was a cobble walkway that lead up to the front door, it wound in a half 'S'-shape across the dead, brownish-tan lawn, and there were stones missing here and there, some kicked out across the grass, others gone completely.

A single stone step at the chin of the front entrance- Sanford was atop it, and peering into the hollowness of his old house- he was looking into the foyer, which had a doorway leading to the T.V. room, the kitchen, and a staircase heading upstairs.

The Deathclaw had one heel on the step with him- she peered past his shoulder into the doorframe.

"There she is." Sanford said. "We had a sitting area to the left, and the kitchen to the right."

"Mm."

"Watch your head on the frame."

"Mmhm."

She ducked under the top of the arch after him- her shoulders both bumped into the wood of the frame on either side, as she struggled to squeeze herself through the smaller entryway.

Sanford held his arms at his hips and looked around with a nostalgic stare- a tan carpet that covered the floor was matted, torn in places- pieces of plaster and chips of wood were strewn everywhere from where the structure of the house almost had shattered.

It was serenely quiet in the house- like a lot of places in the wastes, in the world in general, it was just silent- but, this was a calming quiet, most of the silences that they had encountered throughout their lives here were disturbing, and eerie.

Sanford considered her with a raised brow whilst she stood behind him in the lobby area- she examined the tan carpet, the white plaster walls, and she peered up the carpeted steps to the second floor with an inquisitive eye.

"What's up there, mon ami'?"

"Don't ya' want to see the bottom floor first?" He chuckled.

"Mm. Yes."

"Well," He held his hand out. "The lobby! Amazing, right?"

"Very."

"And in here," He stood in the doorframe to the left- he held a hand out to the interior of that as well. "-The television room! WoooOOOOooo..."

"...Funny."

Two navy blue sofas against the rear and side wall of a square room with gray carpet- there was a window over the rear sofa, and a shattered glass door that went to the backyard right between the two seating pieces.

Glass and wood chips were all over the place- springs stuck out of the sofas and their fabric was tinted tan from all the sawdust gathered on them.

Sanford stepped into the center of the room- he nodded at a large wooden display- a big piece of furniture with two cabinets, a big center shelf where their Radiation King used to sit.

"That's where the T.V. was," Sanford said. "I think looters took it at some point. It wasn't here when I found the house again."

"A... -'T-V'- monsieur'?"

"One of those electronic boxes with the gray screens? People used to watch programs on them, like, shows."

"...Shows? I've read about plays, and acts..."

"Picture that, but there's a camera channeling it to televisions across the country."

"...Seems far-fetched."

"Easy for you to say! You thought CARS were far-fetched!"

"I've never seen one in working condition." She raised a brow. "What did you expect? Parfaite' comprehension'?"

"Nope."

"...Mm."

"There's the backyard," Sanford pointed to the back door- he stepped through the glass over the carpeting, his boots making tiny clinks as they landed with each footfall. He angled his head through the jagged edges of the shattered door. "...When I was little, there was a swingset, right there, and the fence wasn't white, it was a plain wood color..."

"You were born to this house, monsieur'?" She stood behind him, focusing more on him than the yard outside- the dead grass, the rickety, amazingly intact fence boxing the yard in.

"I never moved, yep," Sanford nodded. "My old man lived in Mobile for a few years before he met my ma', he was born in Florida."

"What about your mother?"

"Newfoundland."

"...That doesn't sound like a state I recognize, monsieur'."

"It isn't. It's Canadian. My grandmother was living there, my grandfather was a fisherman who met her there, and they had ma', and they moved to New England, then my father moved here too, and he met ma', and well, here I am."

"What about your father's sire and mother?"

"A 'Sire'- huh?"

"Is that not meaning father?"

"Yeah, no it is, it's just funny that you said it like that."

"...Mm."

"-Yeah, what about them?"

"What was their... 'Deal'- yes?"

"...Dad never told me. I know his father was born in Florida, I know his mother was born in Florida, but I never knew them, and dad said that they had died before I was born. I'm not sure if that was true or not."

They walked out of the living room, and they were standing in the kitchen- tiled floor, an array of dark wooden cabinets mounted on the walls, acting as base for drab green granite countertops- a silvery sink, now rusted with age, a steel refridgerator missing its doors, and a dishwasher missing its door.

"Did your father purposefully stray from the subject, Sanford?" She asked, using two nails to pinch the blue-tipped knob on the right of the sink's back top- it squeaked when she turned it back and forth.

Sanford watched her play around- he remembered all the times he and his parents had stood over that sink. He looked over and saw the same table and chairs- some of the chairs lying on their backs, overturned- that he and his father would sit and talk at.

"Yeah, he did." Sanford moved over to the table- the wood was almost colorless, creamy, dull, cracked and buffed all over.

"I suppose that could be a sign of your suspicions being accurate," The Deathclaw shrugged, turning from the sink- she leant back on her tail bone against the countertop, folding her scaly arms over her gut. "...Tell me about what you did everyday, monsieur'."

"...What do you mean?" Sanford mumbled- he was still looking about the table- he righted a chair on the floor, it creaked as it sat on its legs again. Brushing the seat off with a dusting palm- he sighed. "I lived here. I slept upstairs. I went to school a few miles away. Three houses down the way we came, I knew a guy, I forget his name... Best friend. Nearby development I had two or three other good friends."

"What about that table?"

"This table?"

"Mm."

"We ate dinner here. Me and my old man sat across from each other almost every night, every weekend morning, we'd chat. Me and ma' would sit here sometimes too."

"What did you talk about?"

"...Uhm... I-I mean, I dunno'," Sanford rolled a shoulder. "There was so much shit going on back then. The Army had rolled into Canada, the government was going insane, the Resource Wars were just starting to morph into something else, and no one knew what."

"What were the Resource Wars, monsieur'?"

"That was in the Middle East- Saudi Arabia, Israel, Iran, you know the countries?"

"I do."

"I dunno' what ever happened with that, and I don't know what the Middle East looks like now, or Europe... Because, the European Commonwealth started shooting at each other too in that conflict."

"You've told me before that they're probably wastes."

"In my opinion," Sanford nodded. "The Europeans had nuclear warheads flying around when us and the Chinese did- I can't imagine anything having survived in such a small cluster of countries that basically unleashed hell on each other point-blank."

"Mm."

"...Forget me for a second, Deathclaw, forget all I've lost, just... Look at my house, you see it? There are millions of houses just like this across the country. We've destroyed our planet, and the crazy thing is, we saw it incoming for decades. Ever since the Cold War.

The Russians were stirring shit in Eastern Europe, the United States was stirring shit in Central and South America and in Asia... This is why I had been saying to you before, why we should work together in the first place. Humans didn't get along- we bickered over pointless and primitive things- greed, racism, nationalism, politics, who was right and who was wrong...

...Nobody ever respected that none of that would fucking matter anymore, if we didn't find new and ingenuitive ways of TALKING, about our problems, than acting against each other about them.

...Now? Now it's too late. The thing we feared? It happened. The world's been tossed into the shitter, shit out, and tossed in an even bigger shitter. We've killed our planet. It's a miracle the human race still persists. Oh, and, here's the cap to it all- we learned nothing. See? We blew each other back to the stone age, and we still kill each other every day. Every single day.

I said I understood where you were coming from with your opinions on the human race. I get it."

"...I won't bring it up again, Sanford."

"No-no, I don't care about that in that way- I've had twelve years to vent my frustration, I'm done with that. I'm just saying, for the record, the one only we know. Huh."

"It's powerful."

"What? Everything that's happened?"

"Your words... And that too, of course."

"Words are words, I can't always see them as being anything but."

"It meant more than simple words to me."

"...Hm. That's good."

"Show me upstairs."

"Sure."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

"I don't know what that little bastard did, or how he did it- but somehow, a fully exo' armored man, a seven foot tall hybrid reptile, and a loudmouthed, flying, robotic junk-heap slipped RIGHT by our craft's scanners, without a trace."

Laslar was standing before four other individuals in the depths of the Braggmen plant- the Commander of the 7th Division, Rime, was actually at the Superintendent's flank- before them in a row were Master Sergeant Hector, E.I.D agent Laureen, and Sergeant Luft.

The group was divided by an aluminum desk that had a holo-tablet laid out on it- the Commonwealth shown in amber hue across the metallic-rimmed screen- Laslar had his eyes fixed on the blinking blip that showed the location of Springs Quarry.

"...I'll admit a blow to my pride," Rime chuckled- Laslar looked at him- he knew was actually being serious through the 'Harmless' jesture. "But Superindendent Seduun is right. There's no way our 'birds should've missed that."

"This Wastelander you encountered is obviously resourceful... He must be a good talker to get an abomination on his side," Laureen said. "Maybe he acquired some kind of jammer? Something unseen? Home-made?"

"No. No I looked him up and down," Laslar grunted. "All he had were a few projectile weapons, carry sack filled with ammo, and the armor- some kind of heavy weapon over his back, he didn't use it. Probably dry."

"You didn't see what else was on his person?" Laureen persisted.

"Woman, what else am I supposed to fucking say? I shot him, he survived- he's in an X-01 suit, that's basically OUR tech', it's durable."

"Ma'am." She corrected.

"-Damn it- do you know how BIG, a jammer he would need to simultaneously take down six Vertibird com' teams and all their equipment? The Brotherhood don't even have something like that- the NCR, don't even have something like that, and they've evolved into an industrial power."

"Maybe this man IS Brotherhood?" Laureen shrugged. "Unmarked agent sent to cause havoc with a liaison op'?"

"...What the fuck would be the point of that?" Laslar shook his head in astonishment. "It obviously isn't a good enough answer that we've run into a tough son of a bitch who happens to be a loner, right?"

"We should be focusing more on how to eradicate the problem, not determine exact point of origin, don't you all think?" Hector chimed in. "It's apparent that he's hostile, and that he's an enemy of the Enclave- what difference does it make on WHO sent him? They'll all burn anyway."

"Aghta' boy," Laslar chuckled. "He's not Brotherhood, he's not Republic, and I for one don't know of any other powers that would be capable of sending someone like this after us, besides the Institute, here, or the Legion out west- the prior hasn't hampered us in its entire existence, the latter's too busy rubbing shit down their faces and dancing for rain."

"...I agree with the Superintendent," Rime stated. "I think we have just come across someone who is good at surviving out there. He wouldn't be able to put up with a direct assault- I'm confident he isn't armed properly, and that he doesn't have combat training."

"...We're going to have to rely on aerial patrols, until we find him," Laslar sighed. "But once we do find him, I'll lead another strike team."

"I would fight beside you, Superintendent, he's killed men under my command." Rime nodded to him.

"...Appreciated. Here's something else, that will make this whole process a lot faster- look into some of the local settlements, traders and merchants- some of them are bound to know this man, and we can use them as a way to get to him."

"What if our man isn't a martyr?" Laureen asked.

"I never said we hold any hostage. If it turns out he IS the heroic type- my favorite -then, sure, why the fuck not? Kill a few natives, piss off the vigilante, always gets them running to us. I'm saying for now, if we can just find a traveler or two that knows where our boy LIVES, that'll be the ticket."

"Sergeant Hector, do a geographic scan, and do a heat sweep- determine areas with population density." Rime said.

"Sirs." Hector trotted back from the group, into the shadows of the chamber.

"...You think we might be able to get a Hound or two for this? If the scans don't work?" Luft suggested on a whim.

Everyone looked at him funny- even Laureen -and Laslar opened his mouth twice before actually getting the words out.

"Eden, much? Hello?" He scoffed.

"President Eden isn't very keen on redirecting MORE resources for this simplicity." Laureen added.

"Yeah-yeah, very noble." Laslar mocked her with an expressionless glare beneath his helmet. "You think Houndbots are going to solve this?"

"They worked wonders in Nevada and California," Luft reminded. "The situation calls for it- that Deathclaw wouldn't last a second in close quarters with one."

"The answer's a 'No'." Laureen grinned.

Laslar looked between the two of them with slow sweeps- he grumbled, and nodded, seemingly with acceptance.

"Then we need to find another way," He sighed. "Thanks for nothing, Fend."

"It isn't about you or me, but the Enclave."

"Mmhm, yep." Laslar glanced at Luft- and he angled his helmet slightly over to Rime's angle- who was watching the exchange with some measure of amusement.

Luft blinked, and dropped the subject purposefully.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

She had a bit of a hard time shoving up the stairs- but eventually, the Deathclaw stood beside him, hunched- in the second floor of the house. Despite how cramped she felt, she dealt with it easily and listened to Sanford start to talk again- she found she liked hearing him talk.

There was a hallway with a bathroom in its midsection wall- a carpet floor here too, tan again- and on either end of the way, Sanford's room was to the right, as was an office just ahead of his door- and to the left, his parents old room.

"Sometimes Vertibirds would fly overhead heading for the national guard base in Cape Cod further south," Sanford told her as he turned right, and she angled herself to try and follow him. "It was always at night, and I would hear the propellors going, real faint, I meant to try and travel to Cape Cod, but, the Glowing Sea really doesn't warrent for it-"

 ** _sssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-kk_**

-When he stopped talking, the noise stopped- and when he turned around and looked at the Deathclaw, she angled her head over her shoulder to follow his gaze, and they both realized that her center spine, the one at the height of her rear neck, was dragging across the plaster of the cieling.

She wiggled her back- **_shk k k_** -and sighed with annoyance.

"Apologies."

"House is already fucked up, doesn't matter," He laughed. "You wanna' call it a day?"

"I'm fine."

"...You sure it's not too cramped for you-?"

"Go already."

"...Alright, well, here ya' go," Sanford turned back to the doorframe, missing its respective door- and he gestured to the inside of a little room. "This was where I slept."

The remains of a mattress were present, the wooden frame having snapped, and laying flat beneath it on a wooden floor that was encompassed by a large, blue rug- grayish sheets were mangled and in tatters thinly across the bedding.

A medium-sized window was directly over the headboard- no curtains, the glass shattered, a breeze whistling through its rungs unevenly- the street wormed past outside, and the lawn was visible from above.

Two nightstands, one on either side- both missing drawers, were made of a once glossy oak- and now, in the current day, were matted with sawdust, old, cracked everywhere, some of the surface wood was peeling in drawn-out rolls across the tops and sides.

The walls were a light blue plaster- holes and cracks were everywhere, and the ceiling was in a similar state- there was a wooden board thicker than Sanford's arm jutting from a collosal breakage in the plaster, a dark trench- some pink, fluffy insulation bubbling through around it.

There was a white sliding door that lead to a closet space- the door was open enough that the shadowy vacancy of a single metal hanger-holder was evident.

Sanford noticed her staring at the big piece of wood above- he stepped over and ran a finger down the lower crease of its ragged end- as the wood was sticking into their head space low enough that Sanford could reach it.

"...You know, I don't think this was actually FROM my house," He chuckled. "I think this got kicked up and tossed through my roof from somewhere else."

"...Interesting theory, monsieur'." She didn't really care too much about the wood- but, sure, if that's what he said, she'd go with it.

Another furniture piece that caught her eyes was a big dresser, multiple drawers, some missing, some half-rolled out of their slots- it was in the same condition as the nightstands, and in a few of the drawers, she could see some articles of ragged cloth.

She stepped through the arch into Sanford's room- compressing her spines, lowering her head- she was before the dresser, its height only up to her waist- she hooked a nail on one of the drawer handles.

"I haven't slept in this bed in a decade, huh." Sanford patted the matt, and immediately stepped back from it when a cloud of dust belched out into the air before his face. "Pfft-! Agh! Yuck!"

She hummed in amusement, and tugged open the wobbly drawer she was looking into- she bent lower, reached inside, and came back with a torn pair of underwear pinched between her fingers.

"Mmmmmm... Monsieur', you certainly have a taste in, what did the robot term them as? -'Under-Wear'-?"

"Yeah, well now it's- HEY! Put that back!"

"Are these sports balls I see faded in the fabric?" She squinted and brought the dusty, two-hundred year old garment closer to her face.

"They're footballs damn it! I was only ten or some shit-!" She splayed her other claw out, and soon, Sanford was caught between her enwrapping fingers as they went over his chest like a big, warm, scaly flower. "-Lemme' go!"

"En' aucune facon', I'm taking advantage of this position, mon ami'." She draped the underwear on top of the dresser, and then dove her two fingers in to find another- as apparently there was a small assortment of them strewn about in there.

"This is just- WEIRD!" Sanford protested, giving up on trying to get her to let go of his chest- he leant his elbows on her forearm, chin in palms, and watched her annoyedly. "Why do you have to go through my childhood underwear, precisely?"

"No reason." She chimed- holding another pair before her- she made a puffing noise from her nostrils, and dropped it back into the drawer. "Who was the guy on that one?"

"...Superman..." Sanford growled through gritted teeth.

"I know nothing of a- 'Super-Man' -monsieur', who's a super man?"

"...He was a comic book hero before the war..."

"Mm. Comic book? What was that?" She flicked it back into the drawer, yanked out another one- each time she took out another, a thin trail of wavering dust followed it up.

"...Can you stop? Please?"

"What's that, monsieur'?"

"Sifting through my damned underwear? Please?"

"...Mm. Has that machine been through here?"

"..."

"...Ah. No wonder you're so apprehensive of it, alright." She dropped her held piece, stepped back, slid the drawer shut, and released her grip on his chest, smiling. "Onwards we go."

"...And you said I was the one that was evil, in the quarry."

"HmHm."

"...Well, that's it, I mean, there's nothing else in my house that's really worth looking at," He dusted off his shirt with his hands. "This is where I lived, this is who I was before now."

"I never imagined a human showing me through their old home." She commented, her tail flicking over her ankles.

"I never imagined showing anyone but Hancock through my old house, and I also never imagined I'd be willingly letting a Deathclaw into it, right?" Sanford laughed. "Interesting last few days."

"Mm."

"...It's getting dark, you wanna' try that river? Or wait until tomorrow?"

"I'll make it quick."

"Alright, ladies first." He nodded for the doorframe.

"Mm, je vous' remercie'." She ducked through the arch- her spine dragging briefly.

Sanford turned back and looked around his old room a little longer, he nudged the smashed frame of his bed witht the toe of his boot- glanced out the window.

The Deathclaw gave off fumbling thuds as she slowly walked down the steps to the lower floor- the wood creaked as she stopped and called back to him-

"Coming, monsieur'?"

"Yep."

Sanford looked about a bit more- then he sighed, again, and was out in the hallway, following her down the stairs faster than he could blink.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

The basement chambers of the facility weren't in deplorable condition- but they were dark, they smelled, interestingly- a scent that spoke more towards mothballs than anything else -and the constant sound of dripping water from all the old pipes was just annoying.

Either way, it was a group of rectangular, concrete warrens that were crisscrossed with steel pipes all down their walls and cielings- water tanks lined the eastern walls in rounded, shadowy masses- and there were holes all over the floor where copper-pipe links had been ripped out years ago.

Deployable bunks were lined in one chamber- there were more crates lying around, and the whole thing just looked like a place the soldiers would be keep prisoners, not their own comrades.

Laslar took one look into the first chamber, and he was so disgusted that he ordered the staff squad sleeping down there to pack it all up and distribute it about the soldiers' barracks throughout the facility- even though, technically, Laureen Fend had already told them to leave, but for Laslar's group to replace them down there.

Laslar then took it up a tad- and he physically carried one of the cots up two flights of stairs, into the old CEO office at the top floor of the building- and he slapped it onto the ground right next to the cot that Laureen had claimed for herself.

Having not seen her outside the armor up until this point- Laslar squinted when this skinny, pale woman emerged from the sheets- looking quite angry, appalled- after all, Laslar was the first person in the Enclave who had even considered mouthing off to her.

"Evening, Fend," He greeted- still in his suit- the cot clambered onto the floor, and he patted its center with his gauntlet to straighten it. "Hope you don't mind."

She didn't say a word to him the entire time.

Laslar stepped into the empty corner of the chamber, in the glowing shadow of the windows lining the northern side of the room- his suit bleeped, whined, hissed- it opened up and the built man stepped out from the internally padded sleeve.

Laureen saw for the first time his muscled form- his narrow head, the small scars all over his cheeks and forehead- he grinned at her with perfectly white teeth, even though, some were missing- and he laid himself out on the cot, back-first- where the thing creaked and rattled further.

"Night." -He was snoring before she got her mouth to work.

"Get him out of here." She called loudly to the ajar, metal door that lead out to the hall and stairway. "I know you hear me, Rime!"

...She sat up for ten minutes and nobody showed up.

She gawked with an insulted exhale- looked down at Laslar, and saw he was grinning in his sleep.

-Back in the second floor of the building, an hour or so later- Commander Rime was just stepping out of his X-01 suit- the exo' unfolding, and he himself stepping out of the back.

He had a hand on his cot when he saw Laureen Fend, the E.I.D agent- the person he had never seen out of the armor before- step into the room, and lay herself out on one of the cots that a member of his personal squad was owner of- he was on night patrol in a Vertibird, so, the man wasn't present to say anything.

"Ms. Fend, I wasn't... Expecting, you?" Rime said akwardly, bundling his jumpsuit top in his arms against his chest.

Laureen looked up at him once- her short, black hair still messed from her failed attempt at rest upstairs- she grunted, and passed out.

Rime had only one person in mind for the reason of the Secret Service operative's behavior.

 _The Superintendent. Wow._

-If anyone else had did what he did, Laureen would've shot them.

-Because, honestly, what else could the two of them DO to each other besides act like children?

That was the weird protection that such positions in the Enclave gave their members- even though these positions, and these ranks, were designed to stamp out insubordination among tides of lower statures- they actually created more of them among the higher offices.

That was because all these ranks and unique positions were instilled by different power bases within the Enclave- the E.I.D was created by the presidents of the past and maintained by their own board sponsored by whatever president was currently in power.

Superintendent Laslar, the first and only of his rank- was instilled to power by president Eden himself, and no other.

Such games of competing bodies had been the name of the game within the Enclave.

It was always Division Commanders against Division Commanders, logistics teams against logistics teams, science teams against science teams, sergeant against sergeant- hell, it even came down to installation against installation.

It had to do with the current state of technology, and how big the world was and what it used to be- the Enclave didn't own North America like the United States did- thus, infrastructure (what was left of it) was random, unkempt, and unrealistic to pre-War records.

It took longer for the Enclave to reach each other- after all, the only way for the varying units of the group to reach other was by air transport- and whenever an air transport was needed to move people or material, that meant it needed to be taken out of military service somewhere, which wasn't always possible.

The isolation and independent behavior of all the different Divisions out in the West, or East- or all the different logistics and science staffs West and East- spanned entirely from them being just that- ISOLATED, independent.

The Enclave boiled down to a series of men and women under the command of different Commanders, who had teams of Master Sergeants and Staff Sergeants who oversaw groups of lesser officers- and the Commanders answered directly to communications at the M-100 in Washington, who then communicated directly to the Capital Rig in the Atlantic.

The president was like an overseer to all this- he or she gave direct orders that were usually followed on the dot, because the presidents were chosen out of the most fanatical of those dedicated to furthering the Enclave.

If the president's decision was to be negated, it needed consensus vote between Commanders of the theater in question.

-For example, if Eden wanted a construction project in the West that was under scrutiny, all the active Commanders of all active Divisions in the West would have to agree by majority to override the project. Same with the East- and if operations ever gained traction in the Mid-American states or Mexico or Canada, the same rule would apply.

So when people in power tried to stick theoretical stakes through the river of command and decision making- conflicts like that between Laslar and Laureen were bound to occur.

Laslar had been given a rank specifically formulated for he himself and no one else- Rime, and officers across the Enclave had no doubt that should Laslar ever meet his much desired end, Eden would liquidate the rank right afterwards.

Laslar had been cause of unrest throughout the Enclave for years- but he was able to stay in power because of his boons to Enclave operations. While officers bickered over him and he did and said things considered unorthodox- Laslar in turn minimized casualties in units he operated over astronomically.

Laslar increased operational success of any units he lead, and every single theater and war he had been engaged in at the head had gone quite well for the Enclave Army- the NCR war was a big example- Rime didn't disparage that if Laslar hadn't been leading, a lot more Enclave soldiers would've died.

While some who believed in the Superintendent more would argue extreme results, that the war would've switched from an offensive, to DEFENSIVE measure if Laslar wasn't in command- Rime had no issue admitting aloud that Laslar knew what he was doing, if not ruthlessly.

That was what had so many officers up in arms about Seduun- he was an outsider, not of Enclave blood- that basically had the presidential-given right to determine if and when and how many Enclave pure-blooded would die to attain something.

People didn't want to accept it.

Laslar understood that, and the ranks understood that HE understood it- nobody knew though if Laslar cared. Nobody knew, because he gave mixed signals on it- he obviously gave a shit about how things were being run, but he also had no problem letting Enclave soldiers die to grant victory.

Most Commanders were quite hesistant to spill their men's blood- operations were taken out quick, and with precision to limit losses- and there had been times in the far, far past, and with officers not in Laslar's proximity- where entire campaigns had been abandoned over concern for casaulties.

Rime, himself- he couldn't say he exactly wanted Laslar to be destroyed- he saw great opportunity for the Enclave overall, even if he DID dislike Laslar personally- but what officer in the Enclave took kindly to their counterparts nowadays anyway?

A good question- too bad Rime's lack of sleep for the last two days rendered him too tired to mull on it any further.

He found out, to his displeasure- that Superintendent Seduun snored.

Even from out of the closed doorway, up a brief flight of steps- Rime discovered Laslar's snoring.

At least Rime fell asleep- Laureen was too angry to even get her eyes fully closed.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

They cut through someone's old backyard- passed a rotting porch, that still had a rusty barbacue on it, lid opened- interior burnt- and they slipped between portions of the fencing that had either been blown away or had rotted to oblivion.

A few dead trees loomed, they walked through woodland for all but a minute- then, the terrain started to dip, there was a thin happening of rocky sand- and the tiny lapping of a river was apparent- the same river that passed directly alongside the urban development.

Sanford had followed the river to a gorge that ended on the outskirts of Harvard University- the other end went somewhere way past the Commonwealth's northern borders- he didn't follow it very long at any point.

Now though, from the side- the river looked the same as it always did- even when Sanford had been a child, and he and his friends watched instead of intervened as some stupid kid named Billy Dasser almost drowned in the middle.

Sanford remembered the kid's name too- Billy Dasser -a real shithead- the only reason he didn't get hurt, or worse, was because his uncle had just happened by mid-smoke of a joint, dove in and saved him.

Sanford liked the river when he was younger- he never made time to just walk around it, or sit by it like he always said that he would- now, he never had time, and it wasn't always safe.

Though his development was pretty tame- he and Hancock had gone back and forth through it enough that they had found and wiped out most of the Molerat packs or any of the Mongrels- a few houses south, a Raider group had set up shop- and they shot all of them, so, that wasn't an issue anymore...

Now it was just really quiet. The western edges of the Commonwealth were just as active as the midsection or the east in the harbors- that's because Sanford knew there was some measure of civilization left in Massachusetts.

Strangely, the northern borders, particularly northwest- weren't really active with a lot of wildlife or people activity.

There were rumors that had gone around of a warhead having landed in New Hampshire or somewhere near Vermont- but, Sanford wasn't sure, he never had radiation storms up here, those were only by the Glowing Sea, and according to the Deathclaw, all throughout Pennsylvania, Upstate New York and Connecticut.

Whatever the cause, it worked out really nicely- the Gas Station was left alone, and, even though he really shouldn't have been concerned about it- his old house was left alone.

Sanford had a bit of affinity for the old structure. He'd always wanted to see if he could move his fortifications and his belongings from the station to there- but he didn't have the manpower to relocate a lot of the heavier stuff... He'd never fully disassembled some of the turrets from their moorings.

He put it off, and now he really wasn't in a position to do it anymore. Too bad.

"The water is actually clear, hm." The Deathclaw leant over the edge of the brief sandbank- she let her nail trail in the water, the current forming a small, translucent trench across from its sides.

"Yeah the river's good- it's just, you know, Mirelurks you need to be concerned with, but, I don't see any-"

"I smell nothing. It's fine, monsieur'." She turned around. "Only humans could make such mistakes."

"...Oh, WELL," Sanford chuckled. "Excuse me, madam'."

"Your Francais' sucks."

"Oof."

"Fine, INEXPERIENCED, humans. Consolation?"

"Hmmf, maybe." He nodded at the water- clear, showing a sandy bottom- there was a limb of orange drawing down its center from the dying sun overhead, and the water looked amber in tint. "So you're pretty good on land, but do you SWIM as fast as you-?"

 ** _SSPSSSHHH_**

-A blast of parted water, white frothing everywhere- Sanford watched, dumbstruck- as the Deathclaw shot through the water like a torpedo, and breached the surface on the opposite side of the bank.

 ** _spppshhhh_**

-The sound of her resurfacing was dimmed from both distance, and the volume of the river's motions.

She shook her head, sending shining glitter everywhere off her horns and face- she turned, shot back into the water, and breached right before the sand he stood before, opened her mouth- and puckered her chops.

Sanford blinked stupidly- before a fine stream of reflective moisture pittered and pattered off his face around his nose and brow.

 ** _plmlmpmlpmlmp-_**

"-AGH-! Pfft! -AUGH! -Ew-!"

"Ha-ha." The Deathclaw chuckled, letting herself sink to chest level in the water- her reptilian feet splaying on the bottom. "I know what I'm doing, monsieur'."

"-Pwft! Pft!" Sanford wiped a hand down his face, spit on the ground, and stood straight from where he had stumbled. "-What was that for?"

"Because it was funny."

"Yeah, funny..."

"I suppose I'll extend the invitation of you joining me now- being polite, of course."

"I'm good..."

"Suit yourself."

"Yep. You want to try the soap?"

"...Hm. Sur'."

"Alright, here ya'-"

 ** _plplmplmpmlpmlpmlmplm-_**

"-AGH! Pwfft! PFFT! -C'mon, GIRL!"

"Ha."

She reached out of the water, picked up the bottle from where it fallen by his boot- and vanished back beneath the roiling, reflective surface.

Spitting again- Sanford growled and looked back to see the Deathclaw back under the surface of the water ahead- she was flittering back and forth- the motions were quite a sight for him.

Bending down with the joints in his knees creaking, he sat down and supported his hands behind his backside against the rocky sand- he observed her swimming, and he noted it was kind of crocodile-like, the way she moved her limbs and tail in a swaying motion.

If someone filmed a croc beneath the water, and sped up the swimming motions by ten or something- was pretty accurate for descriptions- she was fast.

Breaching the surface again- she shook her hide, and water flew everywhere- she pinched the soap container between two finger tips, and pooled it in her one palm- she was close enough to shore that she laid it on the sand and rubbed her palms together.

"I haven't cleaned myself in MONTHS, monsieur'." She said- rubbing her palms about near her ribcage and underarms. "I haven't used this soap, yet, either."

"Well, how does it feel?" He smiled, watching the suds gather.

"Rejuvenating."

"That's good. Hey- if you've never used it, how do you know how-?"

"Books."

"...Huh. You use 'Books' as an excuse a lot."

"I love reading. I found a lot of things to read about." She used the lengths of her nails to scratch the suds around her flanks- Sanford noticed the water turning a bit brown around her.

She dipped back under the surface- swam in a complete, dashing circle- came back up in the exact same spot- her nostrils wetly huffing to regain oxygen.

"How long you think you could hold your breath down there?" Sanford asked- toying with the wooden stock of his SMG whilst he leant it against his side.

"I don't know, I never tried." The soap bottle bounced off the sand again, now she was lathering around her left arm with her right claw. "This smells like plants."

"Plants? You mean like flowers, right?"

"Yes."

"Huh, suiting."

 ** _plpmlmppplmplmpmlpmlpl_**

-"AGH! Oh-Christ-EW!-PWWFT! Pfft-! How the- how the shit can you SHOOT that far?!" He scrambled back across the ground, wiping his face.

"Hmhmm." She leant back into the lapping waves, dipped her whole arm up to the shoulder underneath the water. "Phobia for saliva, monsieur'?"

"No... It's just startling, is all."

"A likely tale."

"The only one with a TAIL is you, girl."

 ** _plpmlplplml-_**

"-GOD-DAMN-IT! Pfft-! STOP THAT!"

"HA."

She was humming to herself at Sanford's reaction- she finished scratching about her other arm, dipped that below the water, running a palm across and down it until the suds flicked away with the current.

The soap bottle hit the sandbar again, she leaned back and lathered her palms- she narrowed her eyes in thought, and asked-

"Tell me what football is, Sanford."

"What?" He stammered- still wiping his hand about his face. "Where'd that come from?"

"It was on your under garmets." She mused. "A- 'Sports' -game, yes?"

"You haven't read about it at all? Ms.-'I already know how to use soap'?"

"I've read about Harpastum, and Cuju, from ancient Rome and China."

"...What, and... What?"

The Deathclaw stopped lathering for a minute, and sighed.

"Early forms of ball games."

"...Oh, so... Kind of like Woggil'... Woggil'... How the hell was it pronounced again-?"

"Woggabaliri?"

"Yeah! What you said, I think."

"That's Australian."

"...Sure."

"...Tell me about football."

"Uhm... I mean- GUYS, wearing, uhm... Rounded helmets, with face-protecting grills, and padded uniforms, run at each other and shove through each other to get their hands on a football, which they have to run into the opposing team's endzone to score a point."

"Mm. How do they determine who gets the ball first?"

"I dunno' how the precursors of football did it, but modern day, they'd have a coin flip."

"Mm. How many points were needed to win?"

"Time based."

"Ah."

"...So, you get the basics of sports, but not specific sports?"

"I suppose."

"...Weird."

"I read sporadically with any books I found. I missed certain subjects that were closely related to ones I became fluent in. What's the English way of saying it? 'Oops'?"

"What about the French?"

"How I would say it in Francais'?"

"Sure?"

"Qui donne' un baiser'."

"...Wait, that sounds longer."

"It means- 'Who gives a fuck'?"

"Oh."

The Deathclaw raised her legs one at a time in the surface waves to scratch them with her nails amid the suds- eventually, she ran out of soap when she tried to give everything a second lathering- sighed, and tossed the bottle over her shoulder, where it floated away in the current.

She stepped from the water, dripping everywhere- leaving puddle-filled footprints in the sand as she went- she stood over Sanford as wet as could be, and waited for him to get up.

"All done, princess?" Sanford stood in a hop to his feet- he smiled at her, and noted how her mouth looked a little... bulging.

 ** _plmpmlpmlpmlpmlmpl-_**

-"PFFT-! AH! Pfft-! Eww..."

"Phobia of saliva, I KNEW it." She hummed.

"-Phobia to people spitting in his face, more like it..." Sanford grumbled, rubbing his eyes. "I'm going home, you don't play nice."

"Poor baby."

The two appeared shadows as they walked down the center of the paved road out of Sanford's development.

Dead trees surrounded them, and the sky was becoming dark blue, midnight black again like it had that night at the Super Mutant camp, or when they fought the roach- Sanford looked up at the few stars present through the spindly canopy of gray twigs.

He glanced at her, and smiled when she bent down and nudged his shoulder with one of her horns.

A peaceful night- not a sound besides the wind and their footfalls, one set heavier than the other. Sanford looked over his shoulder for a second to the darkness now hiding his old house from being seen through the dead woodlands.

He creased his lips.

One day, maybe he'd wall it off and use it like an extra home. He didn't want it to just rot away.

One day.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	38. Chapter 38

**CHAPTER 38**

 **Prowlers.**

* * *

Sanford had heard stories that a little while after the war had ended, the fallout settled, and people started to get their acts together- that some birds and insect life survived in large enough numbers, that you could hear somewhat of an excuse of pre-War nature during the day and night.

A shadow of their former selves- crickets and grasshoppers sung at night, some birds chirped during the day alongside mutated cicadas.

-But when the years kept on rolling by, and the precursors to today's powers and civilizations solidified their holdings, and the Master was ended in the west- the wastes became quieter and quieter.

Trees became grayed and leafless- still alive, but clinging to mutated genes that constantly reworked the inner mechanics of the plants to keep them going. The weather got pretty messed up, and it diverged greatly by geography depending on where you were.

The Commonwealth was apparently a very- 'Sunny'- place in comparison to the rest of the East Coast.

All the merchants that Sanford had talked to throughout the years had earned him stories of the grayed sky of Washington, Virginia and Maryland- the amber, smog-filled hell that hung over Pittsburg and most of the Canadian borders.

People said that the West was usually darker, strangely, OUTSIDE the deserts- where in said sandpits it was brighter, the weather clearer. He had heard tales of a great city established there, greater than Diamond- the Hub, and a city of Ghouls, all members of the New California Republic.

The Brotherhood supposedly persisted there in a fleeting manner- as far as Sanford knew, there were five or six varying factions of the Brotherhood that existed across the country- he had only heard stories of the Mideast and Midwest Chapters.

He had come across members of the Eastern Chapter before- they were usually gruff people, they referred to him as- 'Local' -and it just seemed that the Brotherhood liked to spit praise all over themselves and belittle everyone around them.

Like most people in the wastes- Sanford did not LIKE, the Brotherhood, in any way.

They were self-rightious pricks who considered salvaging pre-War technology and rebuilding humanity's ability to technologically sustain themselves worth more than human lives- even the Eastern Chapter, the same that had broken away from the Mideast to do the exact OPPOSITE, still wasn't very good at it.

The Brotherhood were so stuck in their ways that they actually caused a lot of problems in areas they entered as much as they solved others- every military operation that they had partaken in, Sanford sneeered at towards its details.

Merchants were talking for awhile about the Mideastern Brotherhood plowing through Pittsburg- and there were all kinds of stories going around about 'Population Cleansing'- and it became pretty obvious that some Paladins had not distinguished properly slavers, from locals- in the idea of saving slaves.

Sanford was no miracle worker- and he had never entered a fight that spanned a whole city and had prevailed through it- but, not for nothing, there was a reason the Commonwealth was as quiet as it was, for what little it was worth.

Sanford had become good at his profession- which was an amalgamate of things- vigilante, scavenger, monster killer- and he had been doing it long enough that the Commonwealth was a whole lot better than it had been before he showed up.

Out of that whole time, Sanford had done some questionable things- but, blatant killing of people not actively hostile? Execution of unarmed enemy combatants, who didn't DESERVE it? 'Requisitioning' of local people's property? Imposing his laws on others?

-For all the justice doing the Brotherhood talked about, they had a fucking shitty way of going about it.

In addition- Sanford had never insulted or called out a Ghoul for being exactly what they were- a Ghoul -in his entire life- Sanford had made good friends with a lot of Ghouls, and the Brotherhood wished to persecute them.

A horror show. Even the 'Good Guys'- had these traits that just said- 'I'm an animal' -all over the place.

The way Sanford saw it, the real good deeds came down to individual people- not any of the powers across the country, not even the Minutemen, or Diamond City.

That was kind of the precursor reasoning for him doing what he did- Sanford for a good while tried to simply survive, to deal with the terrible things happening across the Commonwealth- but once he and Hancock got their acts together, he stopped just 'Accepting'- and started 'Dealing' with things.

That was why he felt poorly of his first years in the wastes- up until he met Han', gathered the skills he would forge throughout his life here- Sanford stepped aside from bad people, from monstrous beasts. Eventually he got fed up, and put himself between the evil and its victims.

It kind of made sense- after all, he wouldn't have ended up with the Deathclaw if he HADN'T been as good of heart as he was. He might not have even had Hancock with him- and that was a scary thought.

"HEY! You're thinking about something!"

"-Huh? -OH, yeah, yeah I guess..."

"Well knock it off and FIX ME, DAMN IT!"

"Keep your hull plates on..."

"I CAN'T! You took them off remember?!"

"...Ugh..."

"FRIKKIN' COMMIE'!"

-Back in the world of physical reality, Hancock's berating woke him from his daydreaming.

The robot actually looked pretty hilarious without the rounded plates that made the lower flanks of his ball-like chassis- the rivets removed, the metal taken away- it revealed an internal mesh of reinforced panels inside that protected the circuits and wires coursing throughout his form.

Hancock was basically- 'Seated' -on one of the worktables in the garage, central-thruster shut off, arms draped over the sides and front corner of the top- the robot observed with every comment possible under the sun leaving his vocal emitters- as Sanford dug around in the opened sections.

"-WOO! Sir, that tickles! STOP THAT! YOU PERVERTED SHRU!"

"I'm just checking your fuel link down here you stupid-"

"STOP MOLESTING ME!"

Hancock slapped the side of his claw off of Sanford's cranium.

 ** _CLUNG_**

-"-OW! God DAMN it, Han'!" Sanford reclined back with a hand wrapped in his hair- he brandished the head of the wrench he was holding at Hancock's ocu-lenses. "I'll dismantle you, you shithead!"

"SSSSHSHHHHHHSSHPPSPSPSPSP!"

"...What the... What the hell was that?"

"SSSSHHH!"

"...Did you program snake hisses into your voice feeds again? You damned freak?"

"How DARE you assume I'd do such a thing! Last I checked, Iguana-Momma' was sleepin'! AND, if I were to download animal noises in my vox box, they would be moose calls!"

"...W-Why moose calls...?"

"Better to harass you with, sir! HA-HA!"

"...Moose are a Canadian thing, Han'."

"Exactly! All their asses belong to US now! HA! Take that! Damned canucks, touchin' themselves all over maple leaves and other hogwash!"

"Hancock, shut up."

"MAKE ME, SLUT!"

"That's a new one."

"MONKEY!"

"Living coffee machine."

"Baboon!"

"Your mother was a snow-blower."

"GASP! You... MONSTER! Fuck you!"

"Really brotherly."

"FUCK YOU!"

"No, fuck you."

"FUCK YOU, MONKEY-MAN!"

"Uh, NO, fuck, YOU."

"FUCK- YYYYYYOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUU-!" **_CLNK_** "-AGH! Right in the central panel board..."

Sanford stepped back from the table, and looked down at the floor- there was a electric conductor box lying on the concrete, and a fresh dent in one of the internal paddings in Hancock's exposed hip-line chassis.

Snickering at the accuracy, Sanford bent down and picked up the piece of hardware as the Deathclaw reclined from the doorway she'd chucked it from.

"I'm trying to sleep, usiner," She called back. "Scream like that again and I'll rip out a wire and strangle you with it."

"HA! Joke's on you Gecko-Lips! I, don't, HAVE A NECK! Ha! Ah-ha! HA! Suck my sprocket pump!"

 ** _bmm_**

-The door to Sanford's bedding room slammed distantly.

"It's a wonder she fits in there." Sanford sighed, stepping away from Hancock's little operating table, and yanking out a drawer on one of the wheeled tool cabinets. "She almost broke this."

Sanford put the conductor box back in the drawer the Deathclaw had snatched it from, and slacked it closed with a tiny creak of rattling metallic parts- stepping back to Hancock, the robot followed him with his ocu-lenses craning to and fro atop his chassis.

"Sir," Hancock started. "I personally vote for vacating the premises, and BURNING THE BUILDING!"

"Just to get at her, huh?" Sanford sighed, he bent down to the side of the table and rummaged through an ajar trunk by its leftwards feet- he pulled out a military-grade ratchet, almost as big as his forearm- and started to aim the head into Hancock's opened lower right.

"DEATH TO PUFF THE MAGIC ASSBAG!"

"If you don't stop screaming, I'll find your coolent nozzle and burn it off with a welding torch." Sanford informed sing-song like, smiling.

"Bah! You and your threats..."

"Like I said in the field- it's amazing that 20' didn't completely gut your engine. Oh, and I dug out almost thirty pieces of shrapnel, and sixteen bullets," Sanford held up a dented Pork'n'Beans can- emptied, now rattling with internal movement from the batch of foreign objects Sanford had dumped in it from digging out Hancock's systems. "-Any other robot, Han', would've been scrap."

"Well that's why ya' got ME, sir! You stupid simians can't keep ME down! Ha-ha!"

"Jeez'." Sanford put the can next to Hancock's arm on the table- it gave off a charismatic **_clingclicngcnclc..._** -of all the pieces of metal bouncing around inside it.

The garage was quiet for a good moment after that- Sanford chuckling, and Hancock taking silent amusement in the gesture- both tried to remain aloof to what they wanted to say in different ways, about the same subject.

The subject in Sanford's room, beside HIS bed.

"...Sir I don't like it." Hancock blurted out. "I think we should tell her to hit the road."

"No."

"No?! You can't just, outright DENY me without an explanation! It's so, not... YOU, sir!"

"I won't do it."

"I knew it! See that? KNEW IT! You get all emotionally-invested in some talking alligator, and NOW, you're addicted to a lizard's snatch! Great! FRIKKIN' GREAT!"

"You don't even know what you're talking about."

"Oh don't play that crap with me!"

"What crap? That there ISN'T something happening? There isn't! What else do you want me to say?"

"We should get rid of her! All she'll do, is cause problems with the normal monkeys we frequent every day, AND, she'll attract Texan-Douchebag and his fine assortment of space-cowboy wannabe' cocksuckers from the 5th Dimension of Ass-hattery'!"

"...I'm sorry, what? Repeat that last part-?"

"SHE'S BAD NEWS, SIR! She'll get a fleet of Vertibirds here, and they'll carpet bomb us until all that's left are ashes and cauterized strips of burnt gym socks!"

"Hancock, if anything, the Enclave were gonna' have a problem with us in the long run anyway! When has anything that bad persisted around us that we then haven't pissed off and gotten into a gunfight with?"

"Well about those-! ...Uhm, no, we blew off their heads... AH-HA! What about the time with-?! -Ah, DAMN IT, we blew their faces open..."

"Yeah. Never."

"DOESN'T MATTER!"

"Yeah it does. She saved my can, I've saved hers, and last I recall, all three of us pulled out of a series of situations that you and I would've had EXTREME difficulty doing by ourselves."

"WITHOUT the little titan suit you're running around with, sir!" Hancock jabbed a claw over Sanford's shoulder to the stilled X-01 still on the power rack in the rear of the garage. "We got that by ourselves! Without her!"

"I'm not just gonna' leave her out there."

"...Stupid monkeys and your morals..."

"Oh yeah, well what about me? Huh? We both, were liabilities to each other when we first stuck together, did we abandon each other? Did you abandon me? No? Same argument."

"Theoretically, the tavern door should've been closed! For GOOD! We don't need a bigger party!"

"Don't need it? Or don't WANT it?"

"..."

"Hancock, look, we've made some poor choices with people we've allowed to follow us, I know-"

"Especially since I had to nuke the last needle-sucker!"

"-Yes- BUT, I get it. I don't believe this was a bad call."

"She's a Deathclaw, sir."

"We've defended settlers who were 'Zombies', Han'." Sanford raised a brow. "I didn't see you having a problem with Ghouls."

"They're skin just melted off! She's not the same! A monster! Not human! Not robot!"

"She's a person, she's intelligent- how would you like it if we found another robot, and I penalized them for not being human?"

"...Oh for Roosevelt's sake..."

"You're always so concerned with bigotry against 'bots? Don't be a bigot yourself."

"But that's not why I'm at arms against it! I don't give a flying fuck if she's Godzilla's sister-in-law! I'd even tolerate BARNEY, the purple dino-shit! I'm against it because the most fearsome military organization in post-war America is trying to stuff her in a box and kill anyone who prevents them from doing it!

They have airplanes, sir! AIR-FUCKING-PLANES! We don't have that! C'mon, sir, I don't see this as a fight we can WIN!"

...When the hell did Hancock ever admit there was a fight they could never win?

That was... Unlike him. He obviously was that concerned about it.

Sanford tapped the ratchet he was still holding in his palm- having clenched it tightly through Hancock's little speech -he sighed, bent down, and finished tightening an internal rivet in Hancock's internals.

Squeaks of steel, creaks of metal and the pattering of a pipe-line being straightened out- Hancock didn't comment further as Sanford reattached his lower hip-line plating, and bolted it in place, one rivet at a time.

With a last smack of a hammer- Sanford stood back, tossed the tools one by one into the trunk by his side, and kicked it to scratch across the floor, against the wall. The lid slapped shut, the rattling stopped- he watched Hancock without comment, snorting.

"Han', it's my gut. I'm following it. Trust me."

"...You could just have a violent case of the shits."

"No. Now trust me."

"... Sanford, I've followed you to hell and back, and I kicked the Devil's scrotum with each pass... Fine. We'll do it."

"Good." **_BNK_** -fist and claw met briefly, Sanford grinned. "You gonna' try shutting down tonight? Your hardware needs a rest."

"Yeah-yeah-yeah! Sure thing, MOTHER."

"Tomorrow we should check by the west outskirts."

"To the city?"

"Yeah."

"For LIBERTY!"

"Great, now shut up, I need to go to sleep."

"Sleep is overrated!"

"Good night, Han'."

"Bah! ...Night."

The robot made an electronic whine- air hissed in a tiny discharge, and the ocu-lenses propped up all draped across the flanks and front of the chassis loosely. Hancock made a rattling noise, some metal shifted, and he looked utterly still on the table.

Sanford walked out into the lobby area- he flicked the switch by the doorframe, and the lights of the garage flickered out, shrouding his robot in shadow. He stepped up to the front entrance of the building, looked outside at the gate for a moment, and shut the door with a metallic thwack.

He clicked the lock- stepped over to the dining windows and peered outside at the quiet yard- only disturbed by the hum of the power generator, and the slight drone of the automated turrets above, rotating.

He still had a boatload of work to do- he wanted to fix his armor, look at the sword he had picked up- but now he was too tired, that could all wait.

Stepping into his room- he saw the great creature that he now had living with him- the Deathclaw- sprawled on a second mattress laid next to his on the floor. She was asleep, snoring quietly.

Sanford observed her prone form down there for a good minute- he actually was wishing she was still awake- he had wanted to ask her about... Anything, really. Just to talk to her for a moment after that little show with Hancock.

But she was out for the night- so that wasn't happening.

Sanford climbed into his bedding and he watched the cracked ceiling above for a good while- thinking, thinking about her, Hancock, the Enclave, the quarry, the sword he had retrieved, his old house...

...His brain eventually just shut down and he passed out too.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

At first it was awkward, going back into his daily routine with Hancock, alongside a third member- but, after awhile, maybe a day or two, it became a kind of pattern, he got used to it.

Every morning he'd get up, she'd be there, his robot would be there- they'd all bicker, they'd all chat, Hancock would feed his crows bread crumbs and then they would all fly away whenever the Deathclaw tried to get closer to observe.

Sanford would work on his armor- trying to use the smelter to get armored plates in a similar shape of curvature to the suit's already made cuirass- she'd be there, watching him, talking to him. He and Hancock would pile wood in a pit of cinderblocks, burn it, hang a pot over it, and Sanford would cook for himself and the Deathclaw.

"Baked... What?" She stammered upon a suggestion of his. "What did you call it?"

"Baked Mirelurk, the best."

"...Is that edible?"

"It's basically just crab, trust me, it's alright."

"...Sur'."

"Go for it?"

"Go for it, mon ami'."

"Alright, Mirelurk coming up."

-"HOLY CRAP! THAT FIRE IS AT A CRITICALLY UN-PATRIOTIC LOW! I'll fix 'er up!"

Sanford was startled initially by Hancock's loud outburst from beside him- he almost dropped the tin he was holding, filled with the whitish meat in prior question- and watched with a gawking expression as the robot leaned towards the little fire underneath the pot, aimed one of his robotic arms- and jettisoned a plume of flame from his thrower into the wood.

 ** _FHWMMMMM_**

 ** _FHWM_**

 ** _FHWM_**

-Two more puffs of blaring, eye-searingly bright fire for good measure.

Sanford dropped his jaw, and blinked- seeing the fire now roaring as the wood was hit with combustable petrol adhesive- the wood crackled and splintered, looking more charcoal than fresh debris from trees.

He glared at the robot who leant back and levitated there like nothing had transpired- noting Sanford's accusing look, Hancock jerked backwards- appalled.

"What?" He asked innocently.

Sanford exhaled loudly and started using a wooden spoon to shovel the meat into the chain-dangling pot once the flames died down a bit more.

It was a perfectly clear day with a blue sky, no clouds in sight, and the wind was even stilled to complete silence- like nature was basking in its own rays of tranquility- an interesting comparison to consider. Sanford and the Deathclaw sat across from each other, seated on two halves of a horizontally cut log.

Behind the main shack building, the rain cover from where the pumps used to be didn't entirely cover the sky- so the Deathclaw was observing the blue, head raised, idly chewing the tolerable meat that she shoveled from the tin using one of her nails.

Sanford watched her stick large chunks of the Mirelurk meat with her sharp appendage- like one would impale vegetables on a shiskebab- and she popped the tip into her mouth, bit down for a moment and swallowed. She was like a machine.

"You eat really fast." Sanford noted, taking another bite from his fork.

She looked down, locked eyes with him and swallowed, before peering into the tin, and giving him the cheapest response he had seen thus far from her- for she merely shrugged and stuck her nail back in the opened top.

He swung the fork around in a circular sweep about the ribbed walls of his tin, dragged the fork prongs clean with a quick pass in his mouth, and set the two objects down on the ground by his boot. He hunched forwards, smiling as she finished.

"So? I suck at cooking, right?"

"Contrary. Not horribly bland, better than I could do, monsieur'." She mused, running her prehensile tongue along her finger, she set the tin down by her side and shifted on the halved log- scales making a hissing noise against the wood.

Sunlight beamed down in a faint, ghostly reflection of aura about the two of them- it highlighted the brick work of the building next to them a brighter scab red, and was abruptly cut off by the top rims of the walls surrounding the property to their flank.

Her tail was swaying behind her- and she idly cuffed a knuckle down one of her curling horns.

"Do you do it on purpose?"

"Isn't it- 'Do you do it purposefully' -mon ami'?" She laughed. "And what exactly are you talking about?"

Hancock, who had started to become distracted, and had floated away towards the flank of the building- looked at her from his distance, and belted out a quick-

"GRAMMER NAZI!"

-Before vanishing around the bend with a rush of his engine thruster.

Answering the behavior with a dismissive sigh- she turned back and repeated the question.

"Do I do WHAT purposefully, monsieur?"

"Holy hell," Sanford chuckled to it all. "-Uhm- Ah, I was asking if you eat like that knowingly."

"...How do... I... Eat?" She asked quietly.

"It just looks like it's a chore to you," He stated. "At least, your expression says so."

"...Habit?"

"Why?"

"Normally the things I am forced to consume are of rather... Unsavory origin and quality."

"What do you mean? Like, spoiled?"

"No. Raw."

"...You don't... LIKE, raw meat?"

"Non'."

"That's interesting...?"

The Deathclaw ground her teeth, gave a little shrug of her scaly shoulders again.

Sanford cocked his head- it obviously bothered her.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She quirked a brow. "Ce n'est rien'."

"Does raw meat bother you?"

"..."

"Tell me why."

"...It makes me feel, I'm not sure- 'Animalistic'? Like I'm an animal? Pour' l'amour du Seigneur', mon ami', I've never thought about it in an explanatory way..."

"Let me guess, you'd kill something and eat it right there?"

"It's disgusting." She spat. "I take the opportunity to rid myself of said memories any instance I get."

"...But that's survival, you never killed for sport, have you?"

"...No."

"Have you ever eaten a human?"

"Dieu'! No!"

"Another Deathclaw?"

"You're pissing me off."

"Alright, then it was survival, and your body is capable of it, and it was a means of getting sustenance- there's nothing wrong with killing to acquire food in a tame manner."

"-'Tame'?"

"Maybe not the best word- killing wild animals for food isn't wrong, humans have been doing so before we even knew how to speak."

"...It was still disgusting..."

"The good news is, you have access to other food sources now," Sanford smiled and pointed at the tin by her foot. "No more raw meat unless you say so."

She made that puffing noise with her nostrils.

"Mm."

"I'll drop it. But you shouldn't feel bad."

"I'll consider it..."

"Otherwise, how are you feeling?"

"...Fine."

"You haven't come out with me and Han' on any of our scours... You wanna' try today?"

"...I'm just afraid someone will shoot at me, and by extension, you, monsieur'."

"I've talked down people pointing guns at me, I'll handle it, don't worry about it."

"...Mm."

"I just have some work to do in the garage, but- yeah, afterwards I'll suit up, Hancock will tag along, you can come with us."

"Maybe."

"Consider it that you're coming with ME, the robot's just a buzzing fly or something."

" _I HEARD THAT! FUCKER!_ "

"...How you deal with it, monsieur'... It alludes me."

"Lots of patience, dedication."

" _-AND DON'T FORGET THE MOUNTAINS OF DEAD COMMIES'!_ "

"...Mon ami',"

"Yep?"

"I've been thinking about what we were discussing awhile ago..."

"...Is this about-?"

"NO. Non', not that. The idea of..." She considered her wording. "-Terminology, for myself."

"What do you mean?"

"I've been thinking of a name for myself."

"Huh! That's great! What were you thinking of?"

"...There is a... Not exactly a PERSON, per say, that I've been reading about in the book we found."

"Which one?"

"Greek Mythology."

"Is it a Goddess?"

"...Yes, how did you know?"

"Is her name Nyx?"

"...Sanford," She laughed. "Have you been looking over my shoulder?"

"No, not at all," He said. "You always leave the book open on her chapter though."

"...Oh. 'Oops'?"

"You want to have that as a name? 'Nyx'? Or something similar?"

"...I haven't decided, but... but I'm thinking about it."

"No rush, girl."

"Mm."

"You done eating? Come on, lemme' suit up, you're coming with us."

"...Okay, Sanford."

"Don't worry about it."

"I'll try."

"I can't have my girl worrying, alright?"

"Alright, mon ami', I'll try."

"You'll try?"

"Sur'."

"You sure?"

"..."

"I'm pissing you off."

"Oui'."

"...That means, yes, right-?" **_BNK_** -an emptied tin rattled off his forehead. "-OW!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

"Ya' wanna' know what I always HATED about the Wastes, sir?"

"What's that, Han'?"

"It was never the scumbags, the Commies', OR the flea-bitten monstrosities..."

"Oh?"

"It, was, always... THE DUST! THE MOTHER FUCKING DUST!"

"Wow."

"Bah! None of this- WOW bullshit! IT'S EVIL! It rides up everywhere! It's like wearing spandex that's been treated with chloric acid! EVERYTHING'S FUCKING ON FIRE!"

"...Y-You've... Worn spandex-?"

"NEVER. TRY. TO UNRAVEL-"

-"-The mystery of the Han', usiner?"-

"...By Jove'... SHE'S GOT IT! HIGH-CLAW FOR YOU, PYTHON BREATH!"

 ** _CLK_**

-The Deathclaw even knew to bunch her knuckles for that little gesture.

Observing the unfolding events with wide eyes, Sanford was pretty horrified when Hancock reclined from the Deathclaw, and the two looked over at him in tandem. It was like a nightmare. A really bad nightmare.

"I have nothing on this."

"Damn straight! See that?! Even the LIZARDS love me! Ha-HA!" Hancock's thruster whipped as he spun in an aerial circle- his metal hide clattering. "And to THINK, just a few nights ago I was petitioning your permanent exile!"

"...Excuse me?" The Deathclaw had her back against the doorframe out of the garage- her expression narrowed.

Now caught in a sort of spotlight- Hancock stopped his jubilant animations, his ocu-lenses creaked with darting movements between her and his best friend. Sanford, while a bit concerned in a mitigated sense for his buddy's structural integrity- took said concern with a dash of salt.

Just like the Deathclaw had taken the opportunity to prod fun at him in his old house- Sanford dismissed his involvement with a rolling of his shoulders and a tiny whistle.

"Ah, nuetrality," He stated lowly- shifting some of the junk he had lying about on a workdesk pulled before him. "The glory of NUETRALITY."

"You're all under the effects of narcotics! HIPPIES!" Hancock snapped. "I should've known this was all just a drug-fueled crapshoot!"

"Yep, drug-fueled, mm-hm." Sanford muttered, returning to what he had been working on before the interruption.

"Has a day passed where you HAVEN'T screamed or raised your voice, usiner?" The Deathclaw asked.

"Ha! NOPE." Sanford answered. "Han' doesn't even know what 'Monotone' means."

"I most certainly DO!" Hancock yelled. "BUT BEING MONOTONE IS FOR LENINISTS!"

"I know, Karl Marx was such a QUIET guy." Sanford rolled his eyes. "So was Stalin, and Trotsky too."

"I DETECT YOUR SARCASM YOU VINE-SWINGING PRIMATE!"

"Obsolete."

"You... CUR!"

"...God almighty..."

"DON'T MUMBLE AT ME!"

"...freaking...stupid robot..."

"WHATDIDYOUJUSTSAYTOMEYOUHIPPIEFUCK?!"

-"-This is quite possibly the most entertaining thing by far this week."- The Deathclaw chimed in from behind the agitated robot.

"WHAT DO YOU KNOW, GECKO-FOOT?!"

"...I know, that I," Sanford reclined from the table- and in his grasp, was something Hancock hadn't seen in days, and something the Deathclaw hadn't seen at all. "-Just fixed up a brand new weapon! Ha!"

"Bah! You wouldn't know a fixed weapon if it shot ya' in the ass and called you mother!"

"We'll see about that." Sanford had in his hands a metallic wonder with industrial synthetic making most of the larger, boxy sections of the frame.

The butt of the gun was supported by a skeletal rear section, two bars and adjustor cranks to fold and unfold the stock- three projector charges, rectangular, drab-colored battery-like objects, were arranged in a circular 'Wheel' pattern around the silvery rear of the long barrel.

Some of the original wires inside the synthetic plates had been replaced by copper wires, and a fresh Power Pack was slid into the feed chamber- yet something looked... Different, about the battery, Hancock couldn't place it...

"It's a Laser rifle, you freak!" Sanford laughed- holding it out further for them both to examine. "I've been working on this baby for days! Remember? We found it? AWHILE ago?"

The Deathclaw just shrugged- because, after all, she hadn't even been in the party when they had both found it- and Hancock looked like a burnt out light bulb to the whole thing.

"...Well, yes, we found it, Han', you and me. Check this out, foldable stock, and the scope up here? It slides to the side, see? Tactical magnification, rapid-fire spin-cycle triple battery function- OH, and check this out- I rerouted some of the coils in the Power Pack here, so excess energy gets dumped in a negative bounce-back into the lower chamber of the charge!"

"So... A rechargable battery? Sir?"

"Exactly! Cool, right?"

"...UP! Coin just dropped!" Hancock snapped- his storage unit flapped open with a charismatic squeak, his claw slipped inside the hatch, and then flung back out.

 ** _clk clk clk..._**

 ** _clkclk_**

-A penny, rusted with age, flew out and bounced away on the floor.

Sanford turned his head down to watch the coin finish its rolling traverse- and then he gawked at Hancock, who looked quite pleased with himself.

"See? Get it? The- COIN -dropped? The old saying? And I literally... dropped... the coin and... and..." Hancock looked between the two of them, both of whom were expressionless. "...Ah, go kill yourselves..."

"You worry me. -I'm testing this bad boy out," Sanford walked around the table and gestured for the doorframe. "Wanna' try it out with me, Deathclaw?"

"Sur'."

"Alright let's go."

"WHAT ABOUT ME, HUH?! I see, MY services, are no longer APPRECIATED! That's it, huh?! HUH?!"

"Hancock,"

"Yes sir?"

"SHUT. UP."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	39. Chapter 39

**CHAPTER 39**

 **It's a Conspiracy I tell you!**

* * *

From the distance, when you crisscrossed through the urban sprawls that acted as outskirts to the immediate vicinity of Boston city, the closer and closer you got, the more and more you could see the varying skyscrapers starting to rise up in the great blue above.

There were a lot of apartment buildings and commercial offices that had brickwork as their primary external construction- there were other towers with metal, concrete, a mixture of the two- rows of glistening windows pock marked with shattered frames.

Today the city was quiet as Sanford, Hancock and the Deathclaw neared it- it was a haunting stillness that overtook the whole of the area- a once great urban metropolis now reduced to whispering dust devils and forlornly torn open structures.

Stooped houses with chipping paint schemes of blue, white and yellow passed on either side of them- the street wound down ahead, pavement cracked, missing in sections, strewn with soil and mud- power lines gridded in a rib formation beside the sidewalks on both flanks.

Sanford was being reminded of the little sprawl they had killed the roach in- he appreciated the quiet, but, it was still a little unnerving.

Though, in reminder- there really wasn't an environment in the wastes that WASN'T unnerving in some way.

Still, whether silence or ambient noises to show something not-so-friendly was nearby- Sanford was always on edge whenever they traveled. Traveling meant they were usually out in the open, and being out in the open exposed you to people with guns- Sanford didn't like it when people with guns showed up.

The armor was reassuring, at least- and now that shanty repairs had been made to the cuirass, Sanford had more confidence then when they had been running for their mothers from the Enclave.

The suit creaked with each step, his new sword over his hip, rifle and Nukalizer over his back- and Hancock's thruster hissed in contrast to the silence around them- the Deathclaw felt apprehensive of walking in the middle of the road, something she'd have NEVER considered doing not that long ago.

"It's fine, I'll handle it." Sanford said to her upon her own objection. "I'm not gonna' let anyone shoot you."

"That's what I fear for, monsieur'."

...She'd be pretty crushed if Sanford took a bullet for her.

She was far from lying to herself anymore- she enjoyed Sanford, greatly, if he died to save her, she wouldn't live too well with it.

That was mostly why she wasn't comfortable with the idea- but, Sanford had been doing this half his life, according to him- and his experience showed it. He'd survived this long with LESS than what he currently had- she wasn't doubting him.

The Deathclaw watched him from the side for a brief moment before reaffirming her inquisitive eyes about the boarded or dark windows of the houses around them- she glanced down alleyways- nervous.

Sanford noted her precautions with a smile beneath his helmet- he leaned towards her and said-

"Don't worry about it, me and Han' have the scans, remember? Coast is clear."

"I know, monsieur'." She mumbled. "You can never be too cautious."

"That is true, good advice."

 ** _pmpmpmpmpmp_**

-Faintly in the backdrop, overhead of their position, a minimalized clacking sound that echoed for what appeared to be miles. Gunfire.

The Deathclaw was hunched over, and she ground her teeth loud enough that Sanford heard it. He glanced over his scans and saw the lack of activity that had persisted throughout the entire travel today.

"Nope, too far from us, sir!" Hancock said from up ahead.

"We ARE near the city," Sanford said. "People are always kickin' the crap out of each other in the city."

"Is this not of concern?" She asked with a shocked tone. "D-Do the two of you stride into this often?"

"I'm insulted you'd think we'd do OTHERWISE!" Hancock admonished. "Pussy-Footing is for morons!"

"We get the best finds in the city." Sanford nodded. "We aren't gonna' back off just because it's a madhouse- we've dealt with worse."

"I find that frightening, mon ami'."

"Taking this... SERIOUSLY, for a moment," Sanford turned a knob on the flank of his new gun- the Laser rifle he had fixed up- it creaked, and the safety cut-off on the battery deactivated. "We might get into a fight, it's Boston city, me and Han' have a rare day in here without something happening."

"I'll be prepared, monsieur'."

"I'm not saying you don't know what you're doing, obviously,"

"Mm?"

"I am saying that me and Han' act like a team." He inclined his headgear at her. "I realize you've been alone in most of your fights, but if you're going to travel with us, you need to listen to us, and if I need you to execute something, you need to do it quickly. Okay?"

"Yeah, Croco-Smokes, San' of the 'ford over here knows his shit!" Hancock laughed. "Leave it to the professionals!"

"...I'll show you- 'Professional' -usiner'."

"I'LL SHOVE CLARICE UP YOUR BUNG-HOLE, BITCH!"

"If a sniper takes off one of your lenses," Sanford smiled. "I will not bolt it back, on the grounds of it marking your loud mouth."

"I don't even HAVE a mouth, damn it!" Hancock snapped. "Get your anatomy right, plebian!"

Up ahead, the road diverged in two- a spiral lane leading left, and the rest of the straight shot breaking into a collection of brick buildings- storefronts, an old plaza that had red cobble for its expansive sidewalks, a trio of cars were still lain to rest about the pavement there.

"Let's check the stores." Sanford stated. "Time to go to work."

"I MISSED rifling through people's household memories! ONWARDS!"

Hancock zoomed ahead down the road- dust swirling in his wake.

Sanford looked down both sides of the intersection they crossed- more rows of houses on either side, the expansion of urban nothingness.

The plaza had some golden light descending from above that reflected off the shattered shards of glass still clinging to some of the storefront windows. Banners, fetishes and decor were mismashed in dulled colors of reds, yellows, blues about the doorframes and brickwork.

A breeze whistled through the plaza- and Sanford watched Hancock float over to a blue door, opened, leading into the darkened interior of one of the stores- a flagpole sticking from one of the building's doorframes metallically clacked as the line rustled in the wind, lacking an actual flag on its tethers.

"How exactly do you-" -Glass broke inside the store Hancock had vanished in, he was laughing about something. "-...Do you 'Scavenge', Sanford?"

"We just go door to door, look around," He shrugged, aiming for the larger store at the end of the plaza- right ahead of them- it was a two-story building, a hardware sign over its front beneath two windows- it had a display window that was shattered, the interior enshrouded in darkness. "We've hit most of the buildings here, I haven't ever searched everything in THAT one though."

 ** _pmpmpmpmpmp_**

-More distant gunfire, automatic. If Sanford didn't know any better, it sounded louder than the last instance.

Maybe whatever firefight was happening was getting closer to them. That'd be interesting.

"Just watch your back, alright?" Sanford blinked at his empty scans.

"Oui'."

The double doors to the building were lain on the floor of the interior lobby- mostly glass, and shattered everywhere for a sea of shards- the frame was rather stout, and the Deathclaw squinted and had to duck to watch Sanford step inside.

Glass crunched under his boots- and inside was a concrete floor, and rows and rows of metal shelves that extended into the darkness- they were mostly emptied, some filled with strewn trash. A register counter was built into the leftwards flank of the interior- a Nuka-Cola advertisement poster was peeling away on the wall behind the rusty, blue register machine itself.

It shown a scantily clad human female wearing a strange outfit with a glass, dome-like helmet over her head- she was smiling, holding a bottle of the soda with the words- ' _Nuka-Cola! Garunteed to BLOW your taste buds away!'_ -printed in faded red over her head.

"What is she wearing?" The Deathclaw sounded disgusted- amusingly to Sanford as he followed her gaze.

"Oh that's the Nuka-Cola Gal'! The Cola-naut! Like an astronaut, but, with soda..." She tsked, and he shrugged. "I know it was stupid, but you can't deny those thighs."

She felt a flare from his comment- but suppressed anything of it.

"I'm gonna' look inside real quick, you wanna' try to-?"

"I'll wait here, make sure the store usiner went into doesn't spontaneously implode."

" _-It's happened before, Lizard-Freak!_ " -Crackled from the static of Sanford's communication bead in his helmet.

He chuckled and nodded.

As Sanford vanished between two shelves- the Deathclaw reclined from the doorframe and looked about the plaza they had come across- the once vibrant place of public commerce now littered with trash, dead vehicles, lost ways of life.

Some paper based stuff flittered in the breeze in tumbling motions across the street here and there- it was so quiet that she could hear Hancock rustling about inside the shop he had disappeared into.

 ** _CLK CLK_**

-Echoed from within the store, followed by a bout of cackling laughter from the robot. Plasma fire. Interesting.

"-Usiner'?" She called out.

" _Ha-HA! OOOOooohhhhh YEESSSSS! Aw that was an itch that needed scratching! TAKE THAT, BITCH!_ "

"Usiner, what happened?"

" _Sorry! Radroach!_ "

"Ugh." She rolled her yellow eyes.

 ** _pmpmpmpmp_**

 ** _pmppmpmpmp_**

 ** _pmpmp_**

 ** _pmp_**

-For 'Daily' consistent gunfire, that one bout of it was getting louder, and MORE consistent.

She assumed eventually Sanford's theory would prove correct, and it would stop entirely. But as she waited outside the hardware building, she heard the sound continue.

 ** _pmpmpmpmp_**

 ** _pmpmpmp_**

 ** _pmpmpmpmp_**

-It was similar to Sanford's submachine gun.

 ** _BMM_**

 ** _bmbm_**

-THAT, however, was not so similar.

A hollow sounding triplet of thuds. Explosions. The Deathclaw bowed her head and listened to the air- she heard... Voices.

Shouting.

This fight wasn't so far away anymore.

"Sanford?" She called back into the building. "Sanford, I think there's a problem."

"I see it," Sanford stomped out of the doorframe- his scans were submitting organic information. People, several people- he counted five heartbeats. "Get inside the hardware store."

"What if they're hostile?"

"Then you jump out and help us fight- but if they're settlers or something, I don't want to kill people who don't deserve it."

"...Fine."

"Hurry."

The Deathclaw huffed and ducked underneath the stout doorframe- her tail flicked inside and she was soon gone in the shadows. Sanford heard a shelf inside screech in movement- he looked out across the plaza and saw Hancock flying over to him.

"Sir! Sir! PROBLEMO'!"

"You're late to the party, man."

"Oh, well, think of it this way- WE GET TO KICK ASS! HOO-RAH, BABY!"

"We don't know who they are, let's remember that, buddy."

"Shoot first! Question corpse!"

"Keep your bolts on..."

 ** _pmpmpmp_**

 ** _pm_**

 ** _pm_**

 ** _bmm_**

 ** _BMM_**

-The sounds of the fighting were coming from behind the row of buildings in line with the hardware store- they were close enough that the weapons were heard in detail.

Sanford could discern shouting- men, mostly, but he heard feminine voices mixed in.

He peered down at his new gun, the Laser rifle- and he gave himself a brief mental reminder of all the parts, how he held Laser weapons he had previously fired in the past- as he hadn't used a rifle of said caliber in a long time.

He brandished the barrel to the east- he and Hancock faced the plaza's rightwards branching of the street- and down the way they looked, they saw nothing for a good while- Sanford's breath was hitched.

Hunching, they heard light padding sounds against pavement- fainter, getting louder.

Footsteps.

Somebody was running.

All at once, a trio of men in fluttering overcoats colored blue, and one white- emerged from an alley between two of the storefronts a few feet away- Sanford tightened his grip on his gun, and Hancock chambered a warhead in his missile launcher with a mechanical- **_THN-THNK_**

The three men had two handed weapons in their grasps- two assault rifles, one Laser-based rifle- they wore trifold hats, colonial- Sanford already knew who they were.

The group was facing back down the alley, snapping at each other- jabbing fingers east and west- one of them noticed Sanford and Hancock standing in the distance over his buddy's shoulder.

"OH SHIT!" -He cried.

The three Minutemen spiraled around and aimed their weapons at the towering man in Power Armor, and the robot fluttering beside him.

For a moment, nothing was said- and right when Sanford prepared to call out to them- the guy in the white overcoat spoke first.

"Who are you?! You Brotherhood?"

He and Hancock glanced at each other.

"No. Not Brotherhood."

"Where'd you get that armor?"

"Who's asking? Are you Militia?"

"6th Company! Corporal Brody! I think I know you!"

"-Doesn't ring a bell, pal'. We're not looking for a fight with the Minutemen."

"You're the guy who saved Bill Tentin's farm!"

"...Bill... Who?"

"He has a wife! Teresa! Out east?"

"...Raiders?"

"Yeah. I was one of the guys that helped you out."

"...That was a long time ago, Corporal...? What, again?"

"Corporal Brody, Jim Brody, look man- put your guns down you fucks-" The Corporal reached over with his one hand, shoved down the barrels of his two fellow's guns. "-This is that Tobs guy, remember?"

"And you say you're NOT a hero! HA! Monkey." Hancock mocked. "That's right! Bask in the rays of glory, mortals!"

The Minutemen either didn't hear him or ignored the robot as they sprinted over to their position on the sidewalk.

In closer detail, Brody was heaving, he was shining with sweat and he had red rings under his eyes- the two other fellows, a darker skinned man with a big beard, and a hispanic man with a clean-cut chin and face- were in similar condition.

Sanford lowered his gun and addressed the three of them with a curt nod.

"Well, we have names down, what do you want, Corporal?"

"I need you, and that robot's help!"

"THAT robot, EH?! Listen here, you powdered-wig wearin', revolutionary cocksucker-!"

"SSH." Sanford shut Han' up. "-What's the problem?"

"I have nine other men and a group of civilians, they're-"

"Where are you pinned, how many are there, and who are they?" Sanford grunted.

Jim had his mouth open mid-speech for a second, he stammered, caught himself with a cough.

"-A-Ahm- old carpenter shop, two streets away, uh- we saw at least twenty guys, we think they're Gunners."

"You think?"

"Sharpshooter killed two of my men, we fell back when a fireteam hit us- didn't get a good look at them. They're nasty, good firepower."

"...What do you think?" Sanford mumbled to Hancock.

"It's your call, sir."

"...Damn it," Looked like his quiet days were over again- pity. "-Corporal, I have a third person here with me."

"Hot damn that's good news- I need every person I can get-"

"-No no, she's..." Sanford struggled for speech, he grunted. "She's in the store behind us. Corporal, I need you and your boys to listen to me- she's not human."

"...W-What do you mean? G-Ghoul? She a Ghoul? I don't have a mother fuckin' problem with Ghouls, man- my men, are gonna' be fuckin' dead, if we don't move NOW! So get her out here and c'mon-"

"She's a Deathclaw."

"...I-I'm sorry, but... What the fuck did you just say, man?"

"She's a God damned Deathclaw, and you need to NOT shoot at her, when I ask her to come out, alright?"

"...Are you on Jet?"

"Fuck, man, c'mon! Something you have NEVER seen before, is gonna' walk out that doorway, right there-" Sanford jabbed an arm to the hardware store behind himself. "-I need you to stay calm and let me explain when she comes out."

Poor Jim was too exhausted to continue to call the nonsense on its bluff- he stood there, shocked, appalled, more and more adrenaline-fueled the longer he couldn't get to his fellows who were in trouble.

Sanford noted the dropping jaws of Jim's two men- he turned around, and called out for his friend.

"HEY! Deathclaw! Come out here! Friendlies!"

-Inside that store, her blood felt like it had turned into ice- she clammed up, and she felt dread growing in her system when Sanford said what he did.

She was tempted to stay, and indirectly refuse- but she feared what the results would be if she did so- more than the results she feared for upon revealing herself.

She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath- her hide shuttering, tail twitching.

 _He won't let them shoot me._ -She reminded herself.

"Deathclaw! Come on, we don't have time!"

 _Here it goes. Heaven preserve me._

-She emerged from the archway sluggishly, her tall, reptilian form released from its compression- allowed her to step into the sunlight, and onto the sidewalk of the plaza.

She righted herself with a stretch to her back- feeling a cocktail of mingling pride to her fearsome appearance- and anxiety, for what whoever she was revealing herself to would DO once they saw her.

The Deathclaw kept her distance- and standing in front of Sanford and Hancock, was a trio of men in overcoats, with colonial trifold hats. They were Minutemen. They were the very people she and Sanford had been so concerned with.

She stopped breathing.

The two groups looked at each other in complete stupefied wonder for a good while- Corporal Jim's mouth was flapping like a fish's would, and his two men were reclined in horror.

All they saw was a monster- something they had been told was a terrible, terrible sight since they were children- and they were confused, thus, their reactions were mute, as to why the beast was just... Looking at them.

Sanford sighed, and turned back to face the militiamen- he shrugged.

"She's friendly, don't worry."

"Oh mon Dieu'..." She muttered- burying her face in her one claw's palm.

The Minutemen started to take a few steps backwards- and they jumped when Hancock started to try and amend the situation.

"She even speaks too! C'mon girl, SPEAK! I command you, TO SPEAK! I'll give you a Lizard Biscuiiiiittt!"

"FUCK. YOU." She muffled in her hand.

Jim jumped again when he heard her speak.

"I-I... Oh God..." He mumbled. "I thought that shit was just a myth."

"Deathclaws?" Sanford chuckled.

"N-NO... Intelligent ones... I-I heard about some in D.C. awhile back..."

She notably deflated by her shoulderline at this.

"...Y-You're saying it's WITH you?"

"She." Sanford corrected. "Yep. She's with us. So the answer's a yes, Corporal, I'll help your men out."

"..."

"Corporal?"

"..."

"...For Christ's sake, man! She's not gonna' try to EAT you! Get over it! Wake up!"

"...S-Sorry, I'm... I just don't believe it..."

"This is gonna' be a long day, sir..." Hancock sighed.

"I knew this was a bad idea." She commented from the sidelines.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Corporal Jim Brody.

If it was accurate that Jim had been with a group of militiamen Sanford had encountered in a fight defending people at a farm- than the two men hadn't run into each other for around six years after said event.

Jim and his two soldiers didn't exactly adjust to the Deathclaw being around them the whole time they explained what was happening- or while they were slipping through the sidestreets- so they kept a good distance from the trio as they moved.

"We had a group of people we were relocating to Diamond," Brody explained in whispers- as they were moving down a few streets lined with more concrete shops.

"We got word on the radio that a man of ours was in trouble- he was undercover, his cover got compromised, I said we should break him out.

Well, we leave the people were moving with a few boys in the carpenter place, me and four go out towards the hideout our man is being held in- and a fuckin' sharpshooter drops two of my guys, nearly hits me.

We take cover, and the next thing we know, we're getting assaulted by a group of twenty people with army-grade guns- we booked it, ended up on your street, lucky we did.

Right after a few alleys though, I hear on the radio that those fucks turned around and started shooting up the carpenter shop when they lost us. I will NOT, have innocents' blood on my hands, mark my words."

"Where did you get hit by the sharpshooter?" Sanford asked.

"Street's further away from here- I doubt the sniper's still there, he probably relocated with the rest of his group-"

" _Jim?! JIM?! Jim, where the fuck are you! Richard's down! Kelehan's down! I'M down! We need help here!_ "

-The voice of a woman shrieked through static and garble from a walkie-talkie belted to the Corporal's breast underneath his overcoat.

The six individuals were lined against a brick wall of one of the buildings- Jim looked down at his guys and held the amplification button on the black device.

"I'm alive, Roe, we're coming, we found some help."

" _Is it Dowm and the boys from the 18th?_ "

"No. A Wastelander, his robot, and... Uhm... L-Look, I know the guy, he's helped us out before, it's that Tobs fella'."

" _Tobs? Who the fuck is Tobs?_ "

"The scav'."

" _...Oh thank God... Well get his ass over here! I hear the Gunners outside calling for backup! HURRY!_ "

"Hang in there, Roe." Jim cut the link, and brandished his Laser Musket. "Let's go, people."

Gunfire was getting louder with every alley they swept through- Sanford gestured for the Deathclaw to stick to the walls of the buildings they skirted- as the fear of this sharpshooter that Brody spoke of was rife.

"Sir, monkey-meat-sacks around this corner!" Hancock reported. Sanford glanced at him, and looked at the scans in his helm's HUD- it now picked up over thirty heartbeats.

"God damn it..." Sanford looked up- the street they faced was a straight line, and it was T-shaped with a lain heading left, and THAT was where the gunfire was coming from. A lot of gunfire.

Patting of automatic weapons, controlled clicks of carbines and the barks of rifles- a full arsenal for whoever was fighting who- Sanford glanced ahead of their line, at the backs of Brody and his men, Sanford reached over and patted the closest man's back.

"Hey, get Jim."

The Corporal sifted down towards him after a moment.

"Tobs?"

"I'm going in front."

"Fuck that, man. My people, my responsibility."

"You're not wearing Power Armor, if you get caught in the open, you're dead. Gimme' a chance here."

"...Look, I appreciate it-"

"I'm not arguing with you. I ALWAYS, go in front, I'm not about to let the lot of you get shot like that..."

Sanford mumbled the rest of his unimportant rant to himself- he stepped around the Minutemen, keeping his gaze high down the end of the street he faced, as there were some taller buildings now that they were getting closer to the city's island.

If Sanford had his mapping correct, then they were somewhere in Somerville still- as they hadn't crossed any of the bridges to get anywhere near Fenway.

Usually the Minutemen liked to stay AWAY from the city... After all, the only people here that they had any affiliation with was Diamond, and Diamond basically had its own army force. Something was off about this, he just didn't know what, yet.

But Sanford pressed forwards anyway- his heartbeat hitching with each gunshot he heard- there was enough weapons discharge, that smoke from either bullet impacts or gunpowder usage was building in a ghostly plume from the street to the left.

The Minutemen sifted about, eyes locked on the Deathclaw when she leaned over them to watch Sanford intently.

The scavenger inched his helmet over the corner of the building, and he managed to peer out into the leftwards break from the main street.

It was another plaza rowed with brick storefronts- a flipped over truck with no trailer was on the side of a straight shot road, that connected to a rounded walking square further down the way- and like Jim had described, the soldiers that had attacked him were EVERYWHERE.

From his distance, Sanford counted at least eight people behind the flipped-over truck down there, they wore drab-colored combat armor, bandanas or army helmets over their heads- they were making arm movements towards the left.

A second later, and a collection of ten more broke from cover somewhere in the square- the guys by the truck opened fire with an assortment of projectile weapons at a rectangular building that was across from the square- and judging by all the bullet holes and damage done to the brickwork, Sanford could say THAT was where the Minutemen were.

The group of Gunners that had broken cover were now advancing down the street TOWARDS them- most likely trying to get around the front of the store the militia were inside- a flanking action.

Sanford jerked back behind the wall- his suit creaking- he looked at the Corporal.

"They're coming down this street."

"Trying to get around the front," Jim nodded. "What do you want to do? We should stop them."

"The three of you can cover me, I'm going closer down the street- Han'? Go up on the roof, support me."

"Rooftop duty! YEE-HAAAWWW!" **_BBMMssshhhhhmmm..._** -The Minutemen all leapt inside their own skin again when Hancock vanished in a pluming arm of soot up into the air, that looped and vanished over the top chin of the building they were pressed to.

Jim looked at his fellows and blinked.

"Rough day, lads."

"You guys ready?" Sanford looked over at his other friend. "Deathclaw,"

"Monsieur'?"

"You're gonna' come up behind me when I say so, okay?"

"Okay."

"Let's go." Sanford nodded.

"Covering!" Jim barked.

The two militiamen with rifles stood straight up, their overcoats fluttering from the motions- they moved to the brick corner, aimed down the street, and though intimidated by the cluster of drab-armored people moving down in a huddle towards them- they opened fire.

 ** _CLKCLKCLK_**

 ** _CLKLK_**

 ** _CLKCCKL_**

 ** _CLCKLCKL_**

-The assault rifles clattered into the air, muzzles flashing, dust pluming out the barrel's flanks. Corporal Brody fell to a kneel in front of his men- he raised the bulky hulk of his musket- and that weapon too added to the fury with a blooming flash of crimson, and a drawling moan of fried ozone.

The Gunners scattered- cries of surprise abound, two of them fell on the street, one screaming, the other with a steaming, cauterized breach in his abdomen.

Sanford broke into a sprint the second the Minutemen reclined back into hiding- his boots thudded against the pavement- he rounded the corner and advanced in the Gunner's direction- he saw the two bodies sprawled on the ground, and from behind alleys on either side of the street, he saw arms and heads flickering in peaks down at him.

Somebody stepped out from a slot of cover on the right side, on the concrete- Sanford fired his new gun for the first time on the move.

 ** _PTPTPTPPTPTPPTPTPT_**

-A cluster of crimson beams of light shot out in a controlled cone from the hip shot- hissing steam belched from the sides of the projector barrel, the three packs spun clockwise like a propeller on the rifle's midsection.

The Gunner Sanford targeted got tossed back like a ragdoll- arms in the air, feet kicking up to hip-level. Clouds of dispelled blood mixed with bursts of laser energy that punched into the man's chest and gut, tearing through the combat padding and vaporizing fist-sized clusters of his very body.

The Gunner flattened on the ground, and Sanford compressed himself as much as he could behind a corner in one of the buildings ahead- instantly, bullets licked off the brickwork behind him.

Cursing, he checked the battery meter on the gun, and was at least mitigated in his adrenaline to see that the charge hadn't really be fazed by the quick burst beforehand.

He liked this gun.

"Han'! Help me out!" He called into his helmet's microphone.

" _EAT THIS, FUCKERS!"_

-Sanford saw a comet catapult over the roof of the building he had rounded before- it arced through the air, right down the airspace over the street, and ended into the side of one of the alley's Sanford's enemies had scattered into.

 ** _BMMMMM_**

-Bricks and soot flew everywhere, a brief flash of roiling flame- Sanford heard someone scream through the near deafening explosion- he leaned out of his corner, and saw movement unsteadily pouring in clusters from the blinding smoke.

He aimed his gun at the motions and fired in three successive bursts- he saw jerks, wisps of smog kicked around from jolting bodies- green blobs of Plasma sailed into the blown-out lane from above as Sanford and Hancock created a killing field.

Jim and his men yelled for Sanford to get back into his little hideaway- and when he complied, the Minutemen peppered the other side of the street with quick bursts of fire, impacts pocking everywhere, and whatever Gunners that had been spared their fellow's fates kept their heads down.

Sanford took a chance and stepped out into the open, round the corner- he called out briefly behind him- "DEATHCLAW! MOVE FOR THE SMOKE!" -before firing his rifle in a few quick snaps at the unscatched alleys ahead.

There was a burst of aerially propelled blood, with darker trails of material flinging out with it- a Gunner flew in a sidewinding swing onto the street with a ragged wedge being torn in his skull.

Sanford just walked towards their positions- he shot two more people that tried to break cover- each falling with a trio or quad of bolts smacking into their chests and heads.

The Minutemen were stunned to see the Deathclaw fluently surge right past them, and sprint on all fours into the cloudy, sooty mess that Hancock's rocket launcher had made on the other side of the street that Sanford covered.

The reptile vanished into the swirling smoke-there were some screams, and as the dust settled she could be seen overhand tossing a ragged corpse run through by the gut over her head- her claws swung, impaled, and her feet planted and relocated- like a sick dance.

More corpses went airborne, and she finished the slaughter with a charismatically-placed- "RAAGGH!" -she used her foot to slide a twitching corpse from her left fingers.

"Clear!" Sanford called- he emerged from the alleys to the left, raising a hand for her, and then for Jim and his boys. He tried for the first time his new reloading mechanism he had made for the Laser rifle- and without changing the pack, he tore the wiring free from the top, took it out of the feed, flipped it over, stuck it back in, and stuck the wires on the new side.

As he expected, the gun locked with fresh power- all he had to do was wait for the other side of the battery to recharge, and technically, as long as the gun didn't get destroyed- he had no worry about ammunition.

The three militiamen jogged down the street towards the two of them- the Deathclaw was breathing heavily, Sanford kept his gaze locked over his shoulder at the plaza down ahead- there were bodies everywhere.

The cluster of dead Gunners to the left were all scorched in a heap of indistinguishable organics in the alleyway Hancock had nailed with the rocket- and the bodies became more whole the farther from the interior of the pass you looked- here they were run through with three to four gashes in their chests, or had fissures blown into them from Sanford's gun.

Jim overlooked the handiwork with a drape in his jaw.

"...W-We couldn't have done that." He muttered.

"They probably heard all that," Sanford reasoned, pointing for the plaza ahead. "We should hit them now, before they reorganize."

"W-Whatever you say, animal-man."

"C'mon. Hancock, stay to the rooftops! Deathclaw," He nodded for her. "Stay behind me, when I pin a position, run in and make mincemeat out of them."

"Monsieur', just to tell you," She sneered down at her bloodied nails. "I knew this was a bad idea."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Here was the only positive thing about this fight.

The positive thing was, that Sanford had gotten the first shot- it was always, always, ALWAYS, a good thing when you were the one who got the first shot.

They'd wiped out a small cluster of the Gunners without even so much as a scratch to themselves- something unheard of, IF, you weren't in such a team of man, robot, and Deathclaw.

They tried to keep it quiet in an advance into the plaza's flank- Sanford was in front, Jim and his guys were behind him, and the Deathclaw had slunk into an alleyway, much against Sanford's suggestions- but he let her do it, if she had a plan, it couldn't be a bad one, she was too smart.

They managed to get close enough to see the people hiding behind the truck in the center flank of the plaza- Sanford noted someone inside the carpenter shop in almost every second story window- they'd pop out with a carbine, or a rifle, shoot and then drop down again.

There were so many bullet marks, that the building looked like it had a spotty texture to it.

Sanford had his eyes on the scanner systems in his helmet the whole while he moved down the storefronts he passed- he glanced in any windows he passed, was relieved to not hear nor see any kind of Gunner activity.

" _Sir_!" Hancock shrieked into his communications, suddenly. " _Sir, lookout!_ "

"What is it?" Sanford froze.

" _SNIPER! Cowardly bastard at 2-'o-clock! Down the street, top floor, left window!_ "

"Oh shit-" Sanford looked down the street ahead of the plaza- just barely, through the window of a building Hancock indicated- he saw a reflective flash from the scope of a gun, a tiny sparkle. "-FUCK! SNIPER!"

Craning his arm behind him- Sanford practically bunched the three Minutemen in his arms, and catapulted them through the shattered frame of a store front window.

 ** _CRRSSHH!_**

-The three men rolled ahead of him, and Sanford was scrambling to his heels. There was a cracking sound, and jagged chips flew from a brick right on the window's frame as the sniper was denied his quarry outside.

"Damn it." Sanford picked up his gun, minded Brody and he fellows collecting themselves off the floor- and inched towards the window frame. He slowly angled the side of his helmet over the rim- peered across the plaza, and shot back inside.

 ** _sskWHHM_**

-The bullet screamed as it snapped off the brick one above the prior.

"Guy's good." Sanford muttered.

"What do we do, sir?" One of the Minutemen asked Brody.

"I can try to take the bastard out with my musket... Long shot though..." Jim grumbled, checking himself over.

"No." Sanford dismissed. "Han'? You see that piece of shit?"

" _Aye-aye! Just so ya' know, Gunners are clearing out of the plaza!_ "

"Good news, we spooked 'em," Sanford nodded back at Jim. "Hit the building with a warhead, I'll follow up, try to pin him."

" _HA-HA! PYRO-FUCKIN'-TECHNICS TIME! WOOOO-!_ " -Sanford sighed and cut the screaming short with a click of his communications.

"Wait for it." He said.

 ** _ssshhhSHHMMMMM..._**

-He heard the missile sail, and dust flittered down from the cieling of the interior they were in- some small items quaked.

Sanford peeped around the window edge again, and smiled when a pluming breakage of catapulting bricks, smoke, soot and flame erupted right next to the window the sniper had used- the resulting bang echoed for miles, and the broiling blackness and licking fire rose several feet in the air down there.

Sanford magnetically clicked his Laser rifle to his hip- he reached over his back, took up the stock of his new bolt action beside the Nukalizer- he brought the rifle into his grip, flicked off the hammer's safety.

Brandishing in a tortoise-aim around the window's egde- Sanford's suit creaked and whined as he struggled to keep its bulky mass as compressed as possible- he aimed down the little iron sight on the end of the frame.

"You don't have a scope-?" Jim sounded angry- but Sanford quietly shushed him.

Through the rolling smoke and flames from the gaping tear in the building's second floor- Sanford switched his suit's vision to night filters- he saw the faint, green outline of a person, scrambling off the floor, picking up a two-handed object- a rifle. That was his man.

Sanford grew statue still- he closed one eye, kept his finger over the trigger.

Raising the peg a bit, he did his best to compensate for bullet drop- steadied further, moved slightly to the right to follow the outline of the man.

 ** _CLK_**

-The rifle barked, and he lowered the weapon to view the building ahead, narrowing his vision.

"...Well...?" Jim asked behind him.

"I think I got him." Sanford smiled. "Han'? Scan for me?"

" _FUCKER'S DEADER THAN A DOORNAIL! HA! KIDNEY SHOT!_ "

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Though she was inclined to not do so on account of them retreating- some lack of desire to respect those who gave no respect of their own had her lash out.

The Deathclaw caught five of the Gunners when the group broke and fell back out of the plaza- intimidated by the fact an entire group of their friends got obliterated all in the span of a few minutes without them even seeing it directly.

The gunfire had all but stopped in the backdrop- and in the shadows of the buildings around her, the Deathclaw hunched over when she had heard bootfalls patting through the soil and concrete of the alleys.

In an instant, four men, a woman- all garbed in drab-painted pre-War army padding and uniforms, ran out into the space she was standing in- and they all screeched to a collective halt about each other when they saw her.

One of the men managed to cry out- "OH MY FUCKIN' GOD-!" -before she was on them, like a fly to shit.

Her claws raked left and right in two dashing swipes- and with each cast, someone was tossed in the given direction with a quad of fissures tearing down their torsos in a mixture of crimson, and red-stained pink.

She opened her mouth and belted out her best attempt at a roar- it was pathetic by Deathclaw standards, seeing as she didn't use her vocal chords for stuff like that a lot... But she got the point across, and the hissing bellow actually frightened her foes enough that one of them dropped a weapon he brandished.

The woman hollered, and she was cut short of not only her voice, but her very head- the still standing corpse was shouldered away, and the last of them were soon flung to the earth, rivers of blood bubbling in geysers from torn wounds down their backs- as the retreat had failed.

Standing among the corpses- her shoulders lifted, reclined, lifted, reclined- she tried to calm her breathing, snorted, and stomped over them without casting a second look.

Her hide was again matted with splotches of brownish red- her nails were dripping. She felt dirty again, but was too embroiled with the combat situation to mind it.

Sunlight made her narrow her yellow eyes- she found the same street that she, Sanford and the Minutemen had taken to advance on the plaza- which now had fallen silent. Originally, she had planned to attack the Gunner mercs' from the side, and advance into the plaza, but, it turned she no longer had too.

She trotted down the sidewalk, and saw Sanford and his three new allies emerging from the shattered window of a storefront- he noticed her and raised an arm- the Minutemen glanced and then were stalking forwards for the plaza.

"There you are!" Sanford smiled. "They ran."

"Apparently." She huffed, standing before him- she went to offer her palm, remembered the blood, and instead leant down and bumped his shoulder with her horn again. "You aren't hurt?"

"Me? Hurt? In a gunfight? Nah, I'm alright. Though... that's a lot of blood you have there-"

"It's not mine." She frowned.

"OH. I'm taking you ran into some of them?"

"Deceased."

"Alright, good." Sanford turned back towards the end of the street- he noticed the building where the sniper had been still burning from its new wound in the backdrop- and before that, Jim and his men were at the foot of the shop, calling up at the windows.

Sanford saw the front door of the establishment shift, and then the green, wood entry swung open- a woman in similar colonial dress limped out, and was laughing in relief- Jim embraced her -dropping his Laser mucket on the pavement.

The Deathclaw observed from the distance with him- partly overtaken with curiosity.

"Just stay back until me and this Corporal guy talk to his friends, alright?" Sanford said.

"Yes, mon ami'."

"Hancock? Come down here would-ya'?"

" _Uhm... Sir,not to burst colonial-salad's party over there, but my scanners are goin' NUTS! Those freak-jobs are coming back! And they brought friends!_ "

"Shit. Stay back until I get these people organized," Sanford said. "The Gunners are coming back."

"Reinforcements?"

"Han', can you give me specifics?"

" _They have something BIG, sir! It has a robotic signature!_ "

"And to think, I was stupid enough to show up in the CITY, expecting a quiet day..." Sanford growled. "Wait here."

"Mm."

"JIM! Jim, we got a freaking problem!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	40. Chapter 40

**CHAPTER 40**

 **The Sentinal.**

* * *

Jim Brody was a fairly average-built guy- he didn't look soldier-like, if that was even a thing. He had thin arms, thin legs, and he had a bit of a gut underneath all the overcoat and the combat padding beneath that... But ever since he had been a militiaman, he had beaten all the odds thrown against him.

Brody was seasoned- he had been in the Minutemen for a quarter of his life, and he had walked the irradiated Earth for thirty years by this point. He understood the art of cooperation in a tactically cohesive squad, he understood what it took to kill a man, and he had been using these things he understood his whole career from rifleman, to Corporal of a Company.

Yet if there was one thing, that ole' Brody just couldn't wrap his head around- it was the situation with this... this DEATHCLAW. This monster. A friendly monster. Who had ever heard of such a thing?

For years he always thought those tales from the West were a bunch of bullshit spat out there by merchants stopped on the side of the trail popping pills and smoking funny stuff... Now, he was disproven.

It hit home harder because it took him so long to actually see the truth.

Meanwhile though, there were almost ten people aiming out of windows with Laser muskets and rifles, Jim was flanked by Lieutenant Roe, and she was looking fierce, with a carbine in her hands jabbed towards the big reptile.

The two guys from before that had been following the Corporal when they found Sanford- were now standing by the doorframe of the shop pointing their weapons too- once safety in numbers came back in, they directly disobeyed his wishes- it was interesting.

Sanford had his eyes locked on Roe, her tanned face twisted in a sneer, lips locked shut, green eyes narrowed- she returned the glare with vigor- and throughout the whole thing, the Deathclaw just looked annoyed at having a small arsenal directed at her.

"...So this is this Tobs fella', eh?" Roe eventually broke the silence- taking her hand out from under the grip of her carbine, Sanford noticed it trembling- she adjusted the black trifold on her head. "What's up with this fucking animal?"

"What did she just call me?!" The Deathclaw barked.

The reaction was instantaneous- a varied shifting of weapons, all the guns from the windows raised and the Minutemen behind them looked wide-eyed- Roe backed off a full three steps and was looking down her carbine's iron sights.

"You tell that thing to stay back!"

"Roe," Jim held a shaky hand up- obscured beneath his black officer gloves. "The thing helped break me and the guys out of trouble. T-This is Tobs' we're talking about! When have we heard anything of HIM causing problems?"

"Just stories, I don't know the man myself." Roe snapped.

"Well not to sound conceded, but he's right- I'm not here to get you all killed, I'm here to help you!" Sanford said rather angrily. "That 'Thing'- is a SHE, and SHE, is a Deathclaw that has been living around me and my robot for almost three weeks! We look pretty intact, huh? Put your fucking guns down!"

"No way, man, no fuckin' way." Roe shook her head. "I don't trust it. You're running about with an exo', a monster, and don't tell me that sword right there ain't militia."

She nodded down at the sword magnetically holstered to his hip.

"I know that sword. That was Jarr's sword, from the 9th Company."

"Jarr?" Jim muttered, looking down at the blade. "Where'd you find that, Tobs?"

"Springs Quarry, if the body I found it on WAS this 'Jarr' fellow you're talking about, then I already found him and his guys dead."

"I knew something happened to him." Jim grumbled, his gloved hand splaying over his mouth. "That damned fool."

"W-What? You're just gonna' BELIEVE him like that?" Roe asked. "What's wrong with you, Brody?"

"Roe, you need to calm down," Jim held his hands up. "This Sanford guy, has bailed out the Minutemen more times than any of us would like to admit, he is an ally."

"I ain't never heard of him before."

"Well listen, now that I have a new person deserving the title of- 'Angrypants' -me and my robot's scanner systems say an entire new group of Gunners are coming here, and they have something big, probably a heavy weapon." Sanford pointed for down the plaza, the way the Gunners had taken off when he and Jim had flanked them. "You need to make a choice here- either we get inside that building and hold them off, or you all unpack and make a run for it. We don't have a lot of time here."

"If the Gunners are coming back, we're defending the civilians inside," Roe said. "You're welcome in, Tobs, but that beastie' stays outside."

"If she can't come in, I don't come in." Sanford grit his teeth. "Tell your guys to put their fucking guns down NOW. If you try to shoot her, I will have no problem defending her and killing every single one of you, do you understand me? You won't win. I'll ensure of it."

"Don't you threaten me, tin-can man!" Roe raised her carbine at him. "We'll turn you into a fuckin' strainer pot!"

"Can we avoid this?! For the love of God! We're on the same side here!" Brody roared. "Roe, ALL OF YOU, lower your damned guns! AND TOBS, drop the attitude! WE. ARE. ALLIES DAMN IT!"

"...I like this man." Sanford smiled after a minute. "Fine. This is how it's working, you all hold the building, me and my pals are gonna' fight them out here."

"Monsieur'!" The Deathclaw interjected, starting to back away towards the side- she nodded at the end of the plaza- they heard commotion, faintly. "Tell the cow we don't have time again, she might understand."

"What did she call me?" Roe snapped.

"No time, go! Go!" Sanford brought his Laser rifle in a loose grip- he ran over to the Deathclaw, gripped her one wrist and tugged her after him for a moment until she willingly followed.

The Minutemen flew back through the door- including Roe- Bordy hesitated, caught between running for Sanford or his fellows. Eventually, the argument for his comrades won out- and then the wooden entry slammed, and shifted as they blockaded it with something, presumably furniture.

Sanford sneered at the door, now across the pavement from them, as he and the reptile compressed against the side of one of the buildings at the mouth of the street they had taken to reach the plaza- the one littered with all the bodies back there.

Sanford glanced at the piles of dead back there, and then he turned and watched the smoking crater in the top of the building down the opposite way across from the openness of the plaza entrance. He grumbled and kept his helmet in a peer around the corner.

" _Here they come, sir!_ " Hancock reported. " _Ass-whooping time! WOOO!_ "

The streetway at the other end of the plaza went left and right, and a row of commercial buildings lined it from side to side- beyond, somewhere down either way, they heard footsteps, lots of them- mumbled voices, and the creaking of some mechanical wheel system.

The grumble of a motor- it sounded like something similar to an ATV, or some other small vehicle- not anything extreme, like a car, or an armored thing- that rebounded down to them hollow, and echoing across the urbanscape.

Sanford kept eyeing his scanner- it couldn't determine what the robotic anomaly was- and that meant that Sanford hadn't gotten ahold of the information to download it into the helm's HUD databanks- which meant it was either something he hadn't seen very often, or it was something he had never killed.

He didn't like either possibility.

The grumbling got louder, the footsteps actually got quieter- he turned back, huffed, and looked at the Deathclaw- her yellow eyes locked in a forlorn stare to the pavement at her feet.

She glanced up and blinked to him.

"We'll do our best." Sanford smiled. "We're not going to let some mercs' stop us."

"I hope so, monsieur'."

"We'll do our best." He repeated- peeping out into the plaza again. "God damn Gunners."

The motor stopped, the creaking stopped, the footfalls and voices had stopped.

...There was no one appearing on the other end of the plaza.

Where were the Gunners?

Sanford could hear his own breathing- he leaned farther out and watched the end of the plaza intently.

"...Monsieur'?" She whispered. "What happened?"

"...I don't know... Where the fuck are they? H-Han'? Do you see anything?"

" _Gunner fuck-bags have stopped! There's movement in their rear ranks._ "

"...What the hell?" Sanford grumbled.

 ** _bm_**

 ** _bm_**

-Two thuds, distant.

Sanford jerked his head upwards- he heard whistling.

"FUCK! MORTAR!"

 ** _wwwwhhhhhhHHHHM-_**

 ** _BMMM_**

-The pavement in the center of the street right beside their position suddenly bloomed in a flower of cracked concrete, dust and upkicked soil. Sanford physically placed himself closer to the Deathclaw- her hide brushing against the suit as pebbles licked off the steel and her scales.

For Sanford, the noise faded relatively quickly under his helmet's protective systems that were designed to keep his hearing intact- but for his Deathclaw companion, she curled beside him with a claw clenching one of her horns- a deafening ringing present in her ear holes.

She shook her head and grunted- Sanford stood straighter up, looked down at her, and his gaze was immediately torn away when a second mortar shell landed not anywhere in the plaza, but smack-dab the front face of the carpenter shop.

 ** _BMM-sshsksks..._**

-What few windows on the building that remained un-shattered, now carpeted the sidewalk below with glittering outbursts of millions of shards- a section of the second floor imploded as the shell punched clean through the bricks and detonated inside.

The building vomited a cloud of dust, smoke, flying pieces of debris and bricks- it all disgorged into the air and rained down a clouding, trailing mess onto the street below- again, Sanford compressed himself to his ally to shield her.

 ** _BMM_**

 ** _Bmm_**

 ** _bmm_**

-Three more rounds landed somewhere else close by- Sanford and her were blinded amid the smoke choking the avenue up, thus, they didn't see the exact points of impact.

"-GAH! God-DAMN it-! H-Han'?! Han' where are you?!"

" _I'm alright! No shells for me!_ "

"...Thank God- me and Deathclaw are alright- any scans for the militiamen?"

" _-All I know is that somebody in there is dead!_ "

"...Shit. -Alright, it's irrelevent now, we need to focus on the people we can still save!"

" _Aw here we go! Communist ball-lickers entering the plaza! They got some heavy hardware , sir!_ "

His helmet switched to its night vision filters- and leaning off the Deathclaw, who was recovering beside him- he peered over the corner of their building again- and the plaza was now flooded with a small mob of Gunner soldiers.

There had to be at least thirty of them- at LEAST.

There was a section moving down the shops to the right, and moving down the shopfronts of the plaza down the left- they all had weapons pointed at the smoking building that the Minutemen had been holed up in.

Sanford heard the grumbling of whatever motor he had been made aware of before- he waited for his filters to compensate for the distance in the plaza, and through the smoke around him- what he saw, didn't agree with him at all.

"...Oh Christ," He wheezed. "-You've gotta' be FUCKIN' kidding me."

Held aloft on a tri-fold set of multi-jointed, flexable, all-purpose struts that each were capped with a ball-like black wheel at their bottom ends- a rounded series of layered chassis plates rose upwards and grew in size as their heights increased.

A mesh of red and black wires sprouted from a mechanical box-like structure capping a rounded torso's spinal section- venting structures were protected by the curved, overlapping, titanium protrusions of the body's rib sections.

A round, metal cap- the head -was partially hidden by a bowl-like, upwards-angled girth of a gorget plate- red scanner bulbs obscured by a grill-like pattern of armored bars. Jointed hinge-like shoulders supported forearms of cylindrical steel, laced with support servos- and beginning at the elbow on each limb, the multi-barreled, sneering, black-painted extensions of projectile miniguns were active.

The arms were low enough that they hung the 5'millimeter guns' maws by the robot's hips, just above the suspension- black soot trickled from twin exhaust pipes just barely peeking over its shoulders- and rolling down in the middle of the plaza, was a pre-War, military type Sentry-Bot assault platform.

Sanford hadn't seen an active one of its kind in years.

Painted drab all over, a faded white army star was emblazoned over its left breast- there were words spray-painted all over its arms and torso crudely, things like- ' _Gunners_ '- and -' _Deth on'Weelz_ '- pretty discernable from the distance.

How quaint.

"Shit," Sanford curled back behind the wall. "SHIT."

"M-Monsieur'?" The ringing in her hearing was diminishing enough- she shook her head again, and stood straight up. "-What happened? Are they here?"

"They're EVERYWHERE down there." Sanford muttered. "They have a Sentry-Bot."

"Merde', really?" She gawked. "First the Enclave has them, and now these people have them! Absolutely fantastic!"

"Keep it together, girl," He said. "Me and Han' can fuck up its rear armor- we just need to get a good angle."

" _Sir, if it's worth anything- the HAN', has remained unseen up here!_ " Hancock chimed through his helmet link. " _Get Robo-Steroid's attention, I'll whack him with Clarice!_ "

"Might be all we can do... My rifle won't be as good against the frontal armor," Sanford frowned down at his new gun. The good news was, it was better against this type of thing than say the submachine gun he had been prancing about with.

It seemed everytime he upgunned, the things he came against uparmored.

An arms race between the world and one guy. That guy just HAD to be him.

"What should we do?" The Deathclaw persisted.

"We can't take them head-on," Sanford glanced at the carpenter shop- it disturbed him the lack of gunfire being rained on the Gunners down here from up THERE. "Take that alleyway you found earlier, I'll get the Sentry-Bot's attention."

"That thing has cannons for arms..." She leant over him to peak around the corner- Sanford grunted, and used his pauldron to shoulder her back behind cover. If they didn't move, somebody would see them.

"Take the alley, I'll hit it and run."

"Be careful? Monsieur'?"

"Yep."

The Deathclaw spiraled around, and she was gone in the blink of an eye.

She was fast, man.

"Alright," He breathed. "Here we go... Here we go..."

Sanford closed his eyes.

He heard the grumbling of the Sentry-Bot's engine, the boots of the Gunner soldiers on either side of the plaza- he took it all in, and his heart was sinking lower and lower towards his feet.

Sanford remembered, briefly, the little stroll he and the Deathclaw had taken throughout his old house. Visions of the dusty, blasted rooms, faded recollections of his parents' faces, of his friends' faces...

If he died doing this, he wanted something to smile at against the dark.

So Sanford opened his eyes.

If he died doing this- he'd take as many of these people with him as he could.

Sanford jolted to a half-exposure around the brick corner- he raised his gun, lined up the iron sights- and before him, literally only a few feet away- was an entire squad of Gunner soldiers that had been moving down the plaza's left flank- they all looked up at him- Sanford saw a guy's jaw drop.

He compressed the trigger of his rifle.

 ** _PMPMPMPMPMPMPMPMPMPM-_**

-A concentrated beam of reverberating, rapid-fire flickers of crimson light ate their way down the entire rank and file of the men and women he faced- the closest Gunner vanished from the neck up as a bolt of pure carbon-based energy scythed through his head and collapsed his entire skull on an atom's scale level.

The bodies convulsed, jerked, and crumpled in slow domino-like patterns in a gruesome display of what happened when personnel ran into a meat-grinder

Sanford basically had the power of a machinegun position in his hands- he killed almost all of the Gunners he faced- and the survivors were calling out, firing potshots and scrambling into the little alleys between all the storefronts.

Flesh boiled loudly, somebody was screaming- it was a terrible kind of scream, something you heard when you knew the person was in so much pain that it was disorientating, that they didn't know where they were.

Sanford saw the last body snap downwards- the Laser beams reducing its breast cavity to a gaping ridge of sizzling brown.

Ten or so corpses formed a lane down the sidewalk- two were still moving, that was where the piercing screams were coming from- Sanford saw he had removed a man's arm, and the guy was convulsing like a wounded animal on the ground.

That froze him, momentarily- out in the open -Sanford looked down for only a few seconds, and he saw this other human that he had viciously mauled, lying in the middle of a pile of his dead comrades.

It was... a kid.

The guy couldn't have been older than twenty- he was fair skinned, had brown hair, and he had thin lips- these were spread in a big 'O' shape, his yellow teeth were revealed as his mouth opened as wide as it could go- he just shoved back and forth, back and forth on the concrete. The ragged stub that was his left arm released contrails of crimson- the sidewalk was turning into a spreading pool of spilled life underneath him.

The Gunner just kept screaming. He screamed like a little girl.

Sanford quaked when he was broken from this horror.

 ** _CSHM-CSHM_**

" ** _HOSTILE ANOMALY DETECTED,_** " -The vox amplifiers on the Sentry-Bot proclaimed its loud, bellowing, electronic voice across the plaza- the robot's wheels screeched in a jerking halt, steel whined.

The arms on both sides of the machine raised, and the barrels were rotating faster, and faster, and faster.

Lifelessly, the red scanner bulbs on its tiny head flickered when it spoke again.

" ** _TARGET ACQUIRED. NEUTRALIZING._** "

Sanford forgot about the boy- the miniguns rolled.

 ** _vvmvmvmvmvmvmvmvVMVMVMVMV-_**

 ** _CSSSHHHHHHHMMMMMM_**

-The rate of fire was so fine, so precise, and so overwhelming- that all Sanford heard was a grinding sound of hundreds of rounds literally being pissed at the brickwork he had been hiding behind- his eyes went wide.

Throwing himself as fast as he could back behind the wall, the bricks shrieked and coughed bouts of dust and pebbles as the twin miniguns ate into everything he had been standing near- they chewed the corner up, they chewed the sidewalk up, they hit everything in the street behind him when he moved.

Hundreds and hundreds of fucking bullets flying everywhere- it only stopped when he got out of the way, and compressed against the wall of the store.

"FUCK! FUCK!" Sanford panted- he took up his rifle, aimed it at the empty space ahead of him, and started backing up- he backed up in the hopes of ANYTHING- the same window he and Jim had jumped through when the sniper shot at them, the alley the Deathclaw had found.

"TAKE THIS, FUCKER!" -He heard Hancock shout all the way up from the roof just above him.

 ** _sshhRRRVVVM-CRK_**

-He jolted his head to follow the sudden mass of movement.

The Sentry-Bot's wheels screeched, the suspension gave off sparks on the pavement as the robot used its excelerator thrusters to roll straight forwards- the massive military robot now sat in the center of the street Sanford was on- it raised its twin miniguns, and Sanford could literally do nothing but press his back tighter against the wall.

 ** _sshhhmmmMMMM-BMMMM_**

Hancock's warhead descended from above in a sooty trail, as always.

It smacked right into the Sentry-Bot's breast- there was shrieking steel, licking flame, a blast of dark smog. He heard the robot's suspension roaring as it compensated for the weight dealt by the impact- gears ground and a zapping complaint of loose electricity.

Sanford bolted towards where the Deathclaw had run off too- he saw the storefront window he had evaded the sniper with earlier- and he leapt through it- his boots thudding on the concrete floor inside.

The Sentry-Bot emerged from the broiling plumage of soot, with shadowy smoke contrailing from a dented, fingered scorch on its collar section- the armor hadn't even cracked.

"... _Wedge formation! Bravo flanking! He's in the building!..._ " He heard the shout come from the street outside.

The Sentry-Bot advanced on slow rolling wheels- a pair of Gunner mercenaries on either side of its position, one guy had an assault rifle, and he footworked right behind the robot's back, aiming the weapon underneath one of its arcing arms.

Sanford aimed out of the window- he drained a potshot from the Laser rifle, and the shots burned into the Sentry-Bot's plating in a cluster of impacts on its chest and waist- the shots flicked pure, glowing red dust, sparks- but after that, the machine didn't even flinch.

 ** _CHHHHHSSSSSMMMMMM_**

-A pair of rounds slapped off of his pauldron- Sanford cursed at the sparks in his vision, he ducked back inside the shop's interior- the window sill screaming as bullets knocked off any remaining shreds of glass still clinging to it, and ate into the bricks.

Some of the rounds clattered away inside the darker insides of the building- Sanford heard the bullets bouncing around through the metal shelves.

Carbine rounds followed up as the Gunners poured ammunition at his position.

He switched the battery coils on the rifle- and as he was doing so, he heard a tiny disturbance.

 ** _clk-clk-CLK_**

-He looked down.

A pair of fragmentation grenades rolled to stillness in the middle of the floor a foot away from him.

"Fuck!"

Sanford hopped backwards, he tore past a shelf, and it clattered onto the floor noisily- but unheard to him, as the grenades went off.

 ** _CRAAAAK!_**

-Dust flew everywhere, the entire inside of the ruined shop flashed white and shrapnel bounced about. If he hadn't been wearing the armor- Sanford would've been grazed by at least three of those many shards. Instead, they bounced off his cuirass harmlessly.

Staggering through the swirling smoke- the gunfire directed at him stopped, the suit whined in his ears about filtering the oxygen passing into his rebreathers- faintly, outside, he heard other forms of weapons fire, shouting- to his dismay, he heard the boy outside, still screaming.

Why couldn't he just... just fucking bleed out already? Just die, and make it stop.

Sanford felt around on the wall he compressed to- he heard wood shutter- and holding his gauntlet there- he tapped his palm on the surface again.

 ** _clm clm_**

-A door. A back entrance.

Sanford looked out into the daylight streaming through the storefront window and the doorway he had vacated- the beams of illumination were mulled by the shadow of the towering Sentry-Bot outside.

Sanford felt around the door for a handle- couldn't find one -and checked it with his shoulder.

 ** _PLM! clcmlmclcm..._**

The door flew open, metal parts ringing away on the ground outside.

Daylight ate into his helm lenses- he blinked- looked around.

He was in an alleyway- the plaza was down by his right, some of the bodies of his recent kills sprawled at the mouth of the way- and to his left, he heard gunfire, shouting- well, he ALSO heard gunfire and shouting from the plaza, but the stuff happening in the alley was closer.

He bolted in the direction of the alley.

"Hancock?! You there?"

" _I'm on a different roof, man! Robo-Steroids almost got me!_ "

"What's happening in the plaza?"

" _Minutemen survivors actually thought they'd join the mother-fuckin' party and start SHOOTING! Ha!_ "

"What are the Gunners doing-?" Sanford was cut off.

 ** _BMK!_**

"-AAGH!"

As he rounded a turn- he ran head first into a Gunner soldier.

It was an older guy- no helmet, a green bandana tied over his forehead- he was bald, had a black patch over one of his eyes and had an army-issue variant combat vest and uniform on.

The Gunner staggered back, holding his head- Sanford stood there in brief surprise- and then he saw his assailant raise a two-barreled shotgun.

Sanford surged forwards- the gun discharged and pebbles flew off a wall to their flank- the Gunner opened his mouth and screamed loudly, defiantly- Sanford wrenched his arm back, and grabbed him by the throat with his other gauntlet.

The shotgun clattered onto the ground- Sanford unintentionally kicked it, and it skipped off to the side.

Struggling only briefly before the suit's augmentation kicked in to aid his strength- Sanford shook the man violently- his yelling cutting in swinging motions as his head was knocked about.

Sanford tugged him forwards- and he brought the Gunner's forehead into an impact with the alley's eastern wall.

 ** _PMMF_**

-The Gunner cried out- and seeing him still alive, Sanford tugged him back, and shoved him forwards again.

 ** _PMF_**

-Now he was faintly TRYING to bellow.

Sanford grit his teeth, brought back the guy's head, even when his knees hit the ground- and he shoved it forwards again, and again, and again.

 ** _PMF_**

 ** _PMF_**

 ** _PMF_**

 ** _PMF_**

 ** _PM-chsk_**

-Blood spattered on the white-colored wall, a fresh rose against contrasting nothingness.

Sanford heaved repeatedly, he stood back and let the corpse fold on the ground quietly.

The suit whirred with each breath he took as he inflated his diaphragm- he looked about the dirt, found his rifle, picked it up, and glanced over it quickly.

" _Sir?! What happened?! SIR!_ "

"...I-I'm... I'm fine," Sanford answered his communications eventually. "...H-Han', what are the Gunners... in the plaza... what are they doing?"

" _They're bringing something out to hit the building with! Mounted! It's on wheels!_ "

"Monsieur'!"

Sanford looked down the way he had originally been intending to head to- the Deathclaw ran towards him, was soon before him, not even minding the body- her claws were ripe with fresh blood.

Sanford peered over her flank- he saw, out in an intersection of passes ahead- a cluster of heaped Gunner corpses.

"...Hancock says the Gunners are gonna' hit the shop with a heavy weapon." Sanford swallowed. "We need to stop them."

"I'm with you, mon ami'."

"...Alright... Let's go..."

He glanced down at the man he had bludgeoned longer than he should have.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Hancock was on the roof of a building near the one he had started off on- he kept his thruster on low power so he could 'Crouch' behind the concrete trim of the roof's edges.

Bullets licked off the trim all over the place- he was pinned- and only when the fire slackened did he rely on his organics scans to aim his Plasma gun over the edge and shoot at whatever pinged positive for a heartbeat.

The Gunners were behind that same damned truck in the edge of the plaza's front- some of them were in alleys on the other side, and apparently Sanford and the Deathclaw had slaughtered a group of them flanking into the right passways.

Down on the ground, one of his shots cracked open a Gunner's head like an egg- and he flipped behind the rear chassis of the truck he had been firing over.

"HA! Headshot!" Hancock cackled. "Take that, Nixson backers!"

His scans showed without him visually identifying- the Sentry-Bot that had chased Sanford down the street at the mouth of the plaza had turned around- it was grumbling back towards the center of the zone from whence it came- both 5mm's were brandished upwards at Hancock's roof- a cluster of Gunners kept in step around its flanks.

Hancock tried to fire off a few shots- his gun venting, and green blobs flying downwards- he actually hit two of the Gunners farther by the robot's right side- but the plasma that hit the robot itself burnt away without any effect.

By this point, the Sentry-Bot was pockmarked with scorches and small black fissures in its hide- and it didn't seem to be acutely aware of any of them.

 ** _CCHHHHSSSMMMMMMMMM_**

-Bullets sprayed all over the place- Hancock practically tossed himself onto the gravel of the roof's flat to prevent himself from getting hit.

"SANFORD! SAN-FORD! HELP ME! I'M GETTING MY ASS HANDED TO ME ON A SILVER-FRIKKIN' PLATTER!"

The gunfire ceased, and Hancock's systems picked up electronic activity from his fellow robot, and his foe.

"My intuitive instincts tell me the shit is about to get real!" Hancock snapped- he raised one of his ocu-lenses over the rim of the roof trim- he saw a blocky, box-like structure rise on bolt-supported stilts from the Sentry-Bot's left shoulder- wires draping and linking it to the back plating.

" ** _BOMBARDMENT PROTOCOL ACTIVATED. NEUTRALIZING._** "

"HOLY SKUNKS FUCKING UNDER ROOSEVELT'S BARBACUE! -Wait, did Roosevelt even HAVE one?!"

 ** _ssshHHMMM_**

-A pair of spiraling warheads kicked out of the missile pack.

Hancock's thruster ignited- and he tossed away from the rim of the roof, right as the trim burst into a giant cloud of smoke and tossed concrete. The air literaly shifted from the sheer gravitational force of the explosion- and it rose almost a story into the air.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Corporal Jim Brody saw the big explosion from the slanted, near-crushed remnants of the carpenter shop's top floor, right window- he expected that Tobs' robot friend from before, was probably a goner.

The Gunners that hadn't been killed by Sanford's crazed move from before, and from the robot's harassing- were behind the truck, and in leftwards alleys in the plaza below- a pair of them stayed with the Sentry-Bot.

To Jim's dismay, not only had the mortar round caved in most of the ceiling on the second floor- but the blood all over the east wall, and the severed human arm sticking from beneath some 2x4's by his boot- proved to anyone who hadn't witnessed, the death of Neri, one of his soldiers.

Jack and Macksby were dead too, and Kelehan had bled out from his wounds- that left him with seven able bodies soldiers including Roe, and fifteen civilians- unless Sanford figured out a way to kill that robot, they were screwed.

Still, Jim fought his hardest- he leaned out the window with his musket, and fired a fully charged shot at the truck down below- he hit a Gunner square in the chest- he saw the body crumple behind one of the wheels- brought himself back inside the frame to crank the musket's battery mechanism.

"Roe!" He called. "Those civvies' ready for a run?!"

" _All set!_ " -Came from downstairs. They were going to try and run through a back door.

"We'll hold 'em off until you're all outside! GO!" He nodded at Frankie'- a big, redder-skinned guy with a brown beard- and the larger man didn't even acknowledge the nod- he reloaded his carbine, tossed the dead mag away.

" _... Set it up! Start fucking shooting!..._ "

-Jim chanced a compressed glance out the window he crouched beneath, and so too did Frankie'.

There was an uneven plat of metal- it had some kind of drivetrain under it, something from a bike, or a motorcycle- the Gunners had a pair of fat wheels on either side of a makeshift mounting carriage- and welded on a tripod mounting, was a gun long as he was tall.

Two operators- one had a glittering belt of gold over her shoulders, and the other had both hands on a vertically-straight pair of handles on the gun's rear- he reached up and yanked back the big bolt.

The gun squeaked, the barrel rose for the second floor.

It was a .50 caliber machinegun.

 ** _CHMCHMCHMCHCMCHMCHCMCHCMCHCM_**

-The carriage bucked, and soon, bullets the length of his hand were clattering into the building's brickwork- and flew straight through Jim's window sill.

"SON OF A BITCH!" He cried, ducking down- the rounds screaming overhead, around him. "SON OF A BITCH! SON OF A BITCH!"

He squeezed his eyes shut- and the fire slackened briefly.

The Gunner operators lined the .50 caliber up with Frankie's window- and then let loose again.

Inside the carpenter shop, Jim tossed forwards on his stomach when the giant bullets hailed about again- screaming in ricochets off the bricks, tearing into the plaster of the second floor's rooms as they passed through the window.

Jim tried to crawl on his belly for the wooden staircase to downstairs.

Frankie saw his comrade- and panicked.

The militiamen stood bolt upright and went to run.

A single round entered his back, and clipped clean through his chest, leaving nothing but a gaping, black hole and trails of dust from the torn overcoat.

Frankie made a wheezing sound and fell heavily on the hollow, wooden floor- he shut his eyes, grit his teeth- the carbine he held fell away, and his hands quivered over the hole in his chest. He tightened, twitching, and balled up, before he stopped moving.

Jim reached the stairs- he made to stand-

-And a pair of hands shoved him on his knees as a pair of bullets tore into the plaster right over his head.

Roe stood on the steps before him- eyes shining, mouth shut, hands shaking. Jim wrapped an arm over her chest and he tugged her down the stairs with him.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	41. Chapter 41

**CHAPTER 41**

 **This is just one step, on a long road.**

* * *

For all Sanford knew, Corporal Brody and every single one of his fellows were dead by the time he was able to reorganize himself for an offensive.

The combination of the mortar shell, and whatever the Gunners were using to chew up the second floor probably had rendered most if not all of the Minutemen either dead or wounded- as there wasn't a shot coming from the carpenter shop anymore.

Sanford and the Deathclaw were relatively safe from potential fire in the little underworld established in the intersecting alleys of all the shops to the west- they were able to see out into the plaza, the ruined carpenter shop down at one end, that street the Gunners had emerged from down at the other.

There was a tall arm of soot trailing from the top of the building Hancock had been on- Sanford, in his worry- checked his scans, and found that his robot's signature was still active, so, that at least cut off his dread for Han's possible demise.

The Sentry-Bot was wheeling away from the store it had hit earlier- the Gunners were smart, as they had the mounted weapon keep focus on the second floor of the building, and the robot watch towards the center and flanks of the plaza behind them.

Sanford was able to see that the mounted weapon was on some sort of custom-built drivetrain, like something you would see an old anti-tank gun on from even before the Great War- a tripod was built into the top, and on it was a .50 caliber machinegun.

Now they had a cluster of Gunner infantry to still deal with, a heavy military robot, AND a heavy weapon.

Great. Really great.

Plus, who knew where that mortar from earlier was? Sanford had to guess there was a team nearby with it setup on a vantage point- or maybe the team had used all their rounds and had meshed in with the infantry they were currently fighing.

Sanford was playing it safe- it was better to assume the Gunners still had the mortar active somewhere in the backdrop, which meant that after, and if, they could find a way to deal with the Sentry-Bot and the soldiers here, they would have to fan out and search for the mortar.

" ** _PRIMARY TARGETS LOST. BEGIN SWEEP?_** "

-The Sentry-Bot's voice rebounded down faintly throughout the plaza.

"How should we proceed, mon ami'? You're closer to a soldier than me." The Deathclaw asked, hunched behind him.

"Hancock's still active," Sanford noted. "So that means he can tie into whatever we come up with."

The .50 caliber roared in the backdrop, for a quick burst- it made Sanford flinch.

"We have to assume somebody is still alive in there..."

"I'll fight for that, monsieur'."

"Good. Lemme' see if I can get ahold of Han'... Hancock? You there? Han'?"

" _...WOO! That was- SPICY!_ "

"-What happened?"

" _Big-Drab-and-Ugly hit me with rockets!_ "

"It has a missile pod?"

" _Roger that, Red-Rooster!_ "

"The damned Gunners always get their fuckin' dirty hands on these things..." Sanford glanced at the Deathclaw. "Are you damaged?"

" _More scratches to mull my beautiful hide!_ "

"Good. Here's the plan- Deathclaw, me and Han' are going to fire on the guys and the robot, you, are gonna' sprint," He aimed a hand at the plaza's midsection. "-You're gonna' sprint right across the plaza, get into the alleys on the other side, wait there for my word."

"You'll... 'Cover' me?" She asked- finding the terminology strange on her tongue.

"Yep. When I say go," He nodded. "RUN. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Merde- YES, I'm sure, let's do this."

"Here we go, Han'... GO."

Sanford slid out from the corner, he stood halfway on the sidewalk, and started firing a full burst of beams from his rifle- he swayed the gun back and forth slowly, creating a sweep for his munitions.

Green bolts shot out from the smoke on the rooftop right beside the Gunners' angle- the Deathclaw was halfway across the plaza, sprinting, on all fours- tail swinging behind her. She was a dark-colored blur across the pavement- she vanished in the shadows of one of the alleys right as a few rounds clipped into the brickwork at the entrance mouth.

The Sentry-Bot didn't even bother to fire on the position of the reptile- it aimed both arms towards Sanford's stance- and all the way from down the plaza, Sanford saw a tidal wave of rounds flying for him for a brief second.

 ** _CCHHHSSSSMMMMMMMM_**

-Compressed to the bricks of the wall, Sanford actually found agitation eating away at him as he changed the battery coil with a few deft hand motions by the rifle's side.

In all the years that Sanford had scoured the Commonwealth, he had killed his fair share of Gunner members- and the group had a healthy hatred, and a price, for him for that exact reason. Out of all the fights he had engaged in with their forces- he could only remember one or two where it got this bad.

They probably didn't know it was him- after all, the Power Armor was a recent development- they probably thought they were dealing with some random Wastelander who had nice toys.

Sanford though, was aware some of the higher ranking Gunners knew his very voice, and that was because they had survived a few engagements with him- so far, Sanford hadn't seen anybody who looked important, but he was keeping higher caution because of it anyway.

That caution was what made it harder for him to just attack the Sentry-Bot- it was what had kept him alive for long, being- 'Wimpy'- as Hancock termed it one time in the past.

"I'd rather be wimpy and win my fights, then be stupid and dead." Sanford responded.

 _Truer words... Huh._

- ** _sshhhHHHMMM_**

-Sanford flinched.

He knew THAT sound.

Right before he could clear away from the corner- the entire wall he compressed to shot outwards- the whole structure belching forwards like a tsunami of flailing bricks, chunks of concrete, and ragged strips of steel from burnt support girders.

Sanford went airborne from the smoke-clouding explosion- the burst had enough force to send the suit off its boot heels, and all the while, stumbling forwards with waving arms, bricks and other rubble clattering off his steel-covered body- Sanford landed on one boot, and then fell forwards.

 ** _PNK!_**

-"AGH-!"

 ** _PMMM-_**

 ** _clmclcmclcmclmclcm..._**

-He ate the wall on the other side of the alley, fell-face first on the dirt ground, and then was buried in a residual heap of bricks and concrete.

Lying down there with his helm's lenses being invaded by the grainy, black texture of the soil- Sanford blasted out a held in breath, and sat under the mess of blocky rubble strewn around him and over his back and legs.

His arms extended ahead of him- he groaned, shifted, and bricks tumbled down all over him.

"...Holy shit..." He hissed- blinking rapidly from the shock. "...God damn..."

Standing, the suit made a few creaks and shutters- bricks and rocks fell in a slow cascade all down his form, dust slithered from all the joints and rinds. Bending down, he slapped a few bricks out of the way, grabbed up his gun.

He started to try and step through the rubble as quick as he could- he aimed for deeper into the alley- he wavered in his stance, eyes narrowed even though they were protected beneath the helmet.

 ** _CCCHSSSSMMMMM_**

-The wall on the other side of him, the crater blown into the corner of the building he had been hiding behind- all were sprayed with 5'mm bullets. Sparks kicked off Sanford's arm and his cuirass- he leapt out of the mounded bricks and moved forwards in a run.

His feet landed hard enough that he was able to rush through the heavy debris- the armor saved him from the rounds that hit home.

Moving deeper into the alleyways, Sanford's only thoughts were memorizations of how the Gunners were positioned, what they had, where the Sentry-Bot was and where the .50 was- through the recovering shell-shock, he started to try and formulate cognitive strategy building.

He hid in the lanes intersecting the buildings- the grumble of the Sentry-Bot's motor echoed across the plaza- unknown to him, the Plasma fire that rebounded out was actually effective on Hancock's end.

"-EAT THIS G.I- WANNABE'S!"

 ** _CLAKCLAKCLAK_**

-Hancock peppered the infantry hanging close to the robotic pre-War era menace- he saw four people at the Sentry-Bot's rear- the fire sent two down with green energy trailing from zones of impact.

Immediately, 5'mm fire clipped all over the place- Hancock didn't take chances this time.

"REETTTRREAAATTTT!"

-His thruster worked on overtime, and before the knew what was happening- he realized that he had catapulted himself straight over the guard trim on the other side of the roof, and he was hurtling for street level.

"-AAGH! OH-CRAPONASTICK- MAYDAY! MAYDAY-! MAY-FUCKIN'-DAY-! I'M GOIN' DOWN-"

-Sanford jerked his head up, and saw a flailing shadow against the sunlit blue sky.

He cursed, dropped his gun, stepped forwards, and Hancock landed in a discombobulated pile right in his gauntlets.

 ** _CLKCLCKL!_**

-"WAH!-OH... Woah... Uhm..." Hancock's ocu-lenses raised- and Sanford stood holding his robot bridal-style over the dirt of the alley, all of the mechanical limbs draping down past his left arm. "...My HERO!" -Hancock finished after a moment.

Sanford blinked, sneered, and parted his arms either way.

 ** _CLlcklckclckclknm..._**

-The sound of a bag of tin-cans hitting the floor.

Nice.

"...Anyone who ever loved you... WAS WRONG!" Hancock barked from the ground.

"Get up, you freak- we have Gunners' to kill."

"DILIGENCE!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Despite driving the Minutemen out of the building, despite killing so many of them- the Gunner soldiers were about ready for a fallback- and by this point, they WOULD have tried to run, if they weren't so freaked out by the fact they couldn't tell where all their assailants were.

After all, there had been a few of their fellows screaming their heads off about a monster- and now, they were being cut down by some guy in an exo' suit, and a robot that liked screaming anti-Communist slurs at them- the Gunners were, basically, freaked out by this enemy.

So behind the Sentry-Bot the last two members of the deceased Sergeant Holligan's squad kept their stances- relying on the robot for support and cover- and the two operators behind the .50 caliber were busy picking up the support struts on either side of the welded drivetrain.

They tugged the gun in a 360', spiraled it to face away from the carpenter shop, and point past the flank of the Sentry-Bot.

They dragged the struts to splay out from each other again, and the loader was just sliding the spare ammunition belt from off her shoulders- when in the blink of an eye, a six-foot tall, scaly, screaming, wicked-sharp-claw bandishing horror shot out from one of the alleys right behind them.

The two soldiers didn't even get an opportunity to scream- the Deathclaw brought her fingers in a sideways slash, and the loader catapulted over the left strut and wheel of the mounting- a globular trail of crimson forming a path through the very air she sailed through.

The last guy drew a handgun- and that flicked out of his grasp when the Deathclaw gripped him by the waist- her large hand allowing her fingers to wrap over his entire pelvis- she dragged him forwards, slammed him as hard she could on the street between her feet.

The man hollered- his screams jolting with each rough movement she made- she rose her heel, and stomped it down right on his face.

 ** _PPWWKKkkk..._**

-It looked like someone took a red egg and threw it on the street, and then it hit on an angle- the blood flew in a diagonal spray across the pavement, it flecked on the .50 and the wheels of the drivetrain.

The Deathclaw heaved angrily, she lifted her foot and sneered at the pancaked interior of the man's head- not even recognizable.

Backing away, she looked upwards, past the rear of the large machinegun-

 ** _CSHM-CSHM_**

-She saw the huge Sentry-Bot. It stopped advancing towards Sanford- its hips made a whining creak as the robot spiraled its torso completely around on the rovolving mount connecting it to its wheeled suspension.

The two miniguns rose, and spiraled- all the Deathclaw did was swallow, and stand taller against her better judgement- her back arched, she panicked.

"NO! No-no! NO!"

 ** _PMPMPMPMP_**

-A cluster of crimson beams lashed out and slapped into the rear portions of the Sentry-Bot's body- there were sparks, flecks of flame as one of the bolts penetrated the weaker armor there.

The robot made a metallic, lumbering groan, and it jerked forwards on screaming wheels. Green blobs of plasma lashed out- and the two Gunners on either side of it fell on the pavement.

" ** _SYSTEM COMPROMISED. TARGETING PARAMETERS- MALFUNCTION._** "

- ** _BMMM_**

-The robot tried to turn back around, but a pluming burst of flame and soot, rocked it again- and the robot screeched on the pavement of the plaza as the explosion centered from a tear in its frontal glacis- the damage was so hot, that the trench in its armor was glowing amber.

The Deathclaw took the opportunity to start and run back towards the alleys- the things that had saved her and Sanford throughout the whole fight- but she was rooted there, with the dead .50 operators behind the drivetrain- when she saw Sanford sprint at the robot.

He broke cover, ran out into the plaza, and ran TOWARDS, the Sentry-Bot.

He was out of his collective mind.

"SANFORD!" She belted. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

Sanford had his rifle by his side- he had a gauntlet curling over his shoulder- and when his arms steadied over his breast, he held the one weapon that had solved their big-ugly-and-tough problems twice.

The Nukalizer.

"TAKE THIS, YOU BASTARD!" Sanford stopped a few feet away- he cranked the barrels of the gun, it bleeped in confirmation- he aimed it from the hip.

All hell broke loose.

 ** _fffFFWW-FFFMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM_**

-The blinding cone of energy purely ripped from the sun itself shot out and bathed the Sentry-Bot in such a complete covering of destructive fire, that the robot merely looked like a black shadow in the blue light.

Pieces of the robot were tossed off of its chassis- the armor boiled away, systems malfunctioned and entire chunks of internal workings were incinerated.

The robot was done.

Or at least, that's what Sanford thought.

 ** _-FFFFFMMMMMMM-WWHhm-!_**

 ** _ftt_**

-All at once, the blue ceased, the roar of a passenger jet stopped, and Sanford was able to open his eyes without disturbance.

The Nukalizer made a whining noise, and then a tiny cough.

Soot plumed once out of the three barrels- and the electronic panel gave off a convenient- **_BEEP. BEEP._**

Sanford blinked- he looked up.

The Sentry-Bot was still active.

Both of its miniguns had been exposed to such extreme heat, that the barrels had melted shut, the bullet feeds had warped, the ammunition tanks had exploded- the robot itself was in such a state of disrepair that even if it DID get off the field the Gunners would have had to have scrapped it anyway.

It looked like a flailing titan made of scorched, twisted metal- sparks were belching all over its joints, torso and melted gorget plate- a fire was brewing from its rear paneling, and black smoke was coughing up from the entire thing up into the air.

The robot made horrible creaks, shrieks and metallic clatterings- its arms rose and then fell as it failed to aim its useless guns at the scavenger.

Sanford looked down at the Nukalizer- and shook it in his grasp, like a child rattled a wrapped Christmas present.

"...No...No...NO-NO-NO! What the-?! -What the fuck?! What the-?"

He turned the gun to look at its top- and immediately, he heard the clink of a glass bottle slide out of the feed, and bounce off the toe of his boot.

He looked down.

The Nuka-Cola Quantum bottle was bone-dry, and there was even some steam leaving the top- it rolled on the pavement, and settled on two of its fin-protrusions a few inches away from him.

Sanford blinked.

Out of 'Ammo'. Huh.

Guess he didn't think of that.

"Son of a fuckin' bitch, I am an IDIOT."

 ** _vvvvvVVHHM_**

-The Sentry-Bot shot forwards- the three black wheels screeching against the pavement- its internal systems roaring and rattling as they gave off their last few functions.

Blinding light was cascading from every joint and gash torn into its hide- the red bulbs in what was left of its little rounded head were now flashing, like lights on an emergency vehicle.

The robot excellerated towards him- leaned forwards precariously in its wanton travel as its revolving mount melted inside its own chassis- like a candle tower slouching from heat.

The Sentry-Bot's core was going critical. A suicide attack. Damn military designs.

"ooOOOOOOHHH SHIITTTTT-!"

Sanford held the Nukalizer one handed- and SPRINTED, in the other direction of the robot's hell-drive.

"MONSIEUR'! THE ALLEYS!" The Deathclaw called out to him. "GET IN THE ALLEYS!"

Sanford's legs arced back and forth, his arms pumped on either side- he left cracks in the pavement as his boots stomped down repeatedly- the robot was close behind- leaving a trail of soot in the air it passed through.

"HANCOCK! HANCOCK COME'HERE!" Sanford screamed.

The had just been flying out of the alley after him- and now, he saw his friend running towards HIM, and a flaming Sentry-Bot with flashing lights all over it giving close chase.

Hancock was momentarily stupefied.

"HE'S GONNA' BLOW!" Hancock cried- he was still screaming even when Sanford snatched him out of the air, and ran with the robot hoisted over his shoulder pauldron. "-IT'S THE HINDENBURG ALL OVER AGAIN! OH- THE HUMANITY!"

"SHUT UP! JUST- SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Sanford, with Han' flailing over his shoulder- vanished into the ruined alley.

 ** _CLNK-CLN_**

-The Sentry-Bot didn't fit into the aisle after him- its scorched, twisted shoulders both bumped on opposite ends of the brick corners.

The Deathclaw, from her distance, winced.

 ** _BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM_**

-A mushroom cloud of roiling flame, glowing amber, fire burning so hot it was white- propelled up into the air for almost a whole story. It towered over the stores on either side of it, and the Deathclaw's face was highlighted amber even though she wasn't anywhere near it.

The flame eventually was replaced by a shadow of balling soot- the mushroom cloud reduced in height, and when the flames finally mitigated to hugging the pile of cinders that once WAS the robotic menace, bricks and pieces of concrete formed finality and rained down in controlled clusters.

Both buildings on either side now each had a blackened hole the size of a truck in them.

The volume of the burst still echoed in the backdrop even though the initial boom was done.

The Deathclaw stood straight up, and looked at the flaming debris down the plaza with horror.

"SANFORD! Monsieur'! MONSIEUR'!" She hopped right over the .50 mount, sprinted for the flames, and only stopped when the heat prevented her from jumping into the broiling mess after her friend.

The pavement was pitch black- flames were everywhere, and they centered around a boiling pile of molten steel that was the Sentry-Bot's chassis- the three wheel-struts splayed on all sides, facing upwards where their midsection had indented and melted.

The Deathclaw angled her head about- she squinted into fires.

"M-MONSIEUR'!" She called again. "COME OUT! Monsieur'! Sanford..."

She draped her arms.

...Nothing.

Nothing but the crackling of flame.

She stepped back from the edge of the glowing fire.

"...Monsiuer'..." She muttered. "...Not again..."

...That couldn't just be it... He couldn't have... DIED, because of a robot, not... Not like that.

Sanford had been through it all, she may not have SEEN it all with him- but... But he HAD to have been through hell and back, how would he still be alive? Be who he was?

The longer she gazed at the flames, the harder it was for her to keep moisture from leaving her eyes.

...It just couldn't be it...

This wasn't right.

"-WOO! Hey! I even found Diesel-Licker's head!"

The Deathclaw spun around to the left.

Emerging from around the left building's other side, by the front window- was the levitating form of the very robot she had grown to absolutely despise over the last few weeks- and he was prancing around, with a chunk of sparking metal in his claw's grip.

-She squinted, and saw it was a piece of the Sentry-Bot's squat, rounded head.

"He's making a break for it! He's near the endzone! THE STEELERS ARE CATCHING UP TO HIM- BUT NO- NO HE'S- HE'S-" Hancock threw the chunk down, and it bounced off the pavement. "-TOUCHDOOOWNNN! HA-HA! Yeah! Yeah-HA! WOO! I demand rights to all the NFL's bitches! HA!"

"...Hey, I liked the Steelers," Sanford chuckled as he came up behind him. "Pretty sure the NFL didn't have a registry of- 'Bitches'."

"Well they oughtta'!"

"MONSIEUR'!"

Sanford didn't even have time to look up before two claws were clenched over his shoulder pauldrons, and jamming him back so the Deathclaw to see him face to face.

He blinked stupidly, reached up and maneuvered over her wrists, took off his helmet with a decoupling hiss.

The Deathclaw had small trails of dampness running down her elongated face, and Sanford noticed, so he smiled at her.

"-I-I'm alright, girl." He said. "I'm alright."

"Oh, monsieur', I could just- OOO- you-IDIOT!" The Deathclaw leant down and compressed her horns, her forehead as far as she could into his face.

Sanford sputtered into her scales, froze, and waited patiently in the warmed contact for her to have her moment and be done with it- though, he honestly wasn't complaining about the contact, it just felt... Weird, he hadn't been touched on the face in... He didn't remember how long.

She sat back and smiled toothily at him.

Sanford blinked a few times, and smiled back.

The Deathclaw suddenly frowned, looked quite angry, brought her bunched finger up, and literally flicked the blunt of her nail into his forehead.

 ** _PNK_**

-"OW-! Hey! What the hell?!" He flinched, closing in eye at the sting.

"Don't EVER, do that again, monsieur', comprenez' vous'!"

"-I couldn't let it turn you into Swiss-cheese!"

"NEVER. AGAIN."

"Or else what? You'll BEAT ME UP, huh-?" **_PNK_** "-OUCH! Stop that!"

"Never, EVER, AGAIN."

"Jeez'-! Take it down a notc-" **_PNK_** "-OOoooOOW! C'mon!"

"-Hey?! Where's my ceremonial face-horning?!" Hancock snapped from beside them. "Hello?! Hello? ...Aw... Aw aren't you two just ADORABLE? Right? NOT. You all disgust me!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

The plaza was hauntingly silent after the last hoo-rah of the Sentry-Bot.

All in the span of a few minutes, Sanford had taken yet more life from yet more fellow human beings- and even though on the outside, he was grinning, and joining in with mocking commentary from Hancock- his mind was haunted with the burnt-in picture of the young man he had shot.

Sanford had asked about what the Deathclaw thought, of his inability to remember all the faces of those he had killed, back when they jumped the Mutant camp- and he remembered, of his own LACK of memory, and he wished more and more for that guy's face to leave as all the others before it.

He had no problem admitting to himself that it bothered him sometimes, and sometimes it didn't- you know, killing people.

There was a certain degree of 'Getting used too it'- as hard and, horrible as that was to comprehend... But, only so much. Sanford knew every person in his kind of situation dealt with it differently- some peple had horrible nightmares, or relived portions of the trauma during the day, and some just curled in on themselves and withered way, unable to comprehend their own actions.

-Sanford certainly had experienced nightmares about some of the instances, but, those always stopped after a few days usually, it was the dream about the nuke that still persisted, as it had for years. He never really... RELIVED, some of the things, he just sometimes... He didn't know- he SAW things, and it would just remind him of it, kind of.

Sanford was no medical professional, and certainly wasn't about to start talking out his ass on understanding the human mind, or even his own mind in perfect clarity... But the stress of his daily life, the things he had done, they scarred him, and they would stay there until he finally met his end.

Sanford had hopes of what many people wanted for that last hour- he wanted to die quietly, in his sleep, an old man, surrounded by people who cared for him... Even if that had only meant a robot, that probably would've been lost without him afterwards.

He had resigned himself to the obviousness that it was unlikely he would get to such an old age, that was it unlikely he would be surrounded by people who cared for him... And Sanford had kept the idea of death in the back of his mind for so long because of this.

That was another reason why seeing some of the things he did disturbed him so much- they reminded him of his own death, and how he didn't understand what it meant, and the uncertainty surrounding it.

So much uncertainty...

So many 'If's.

He had been blabbering to himself about that weeks ago, when he had been searching for the APC that would literally turn his life in the Wasteland around.

If he could find food.

If he could find ammunition.

If he could defend himself.

...If, he could ever find someone who gave a shit about him. -At least there, before the Deathclaw, he had Han'.

If he would live to see tomorrow.

If he actually did run into something he could escape from... IF what? What happened then? Would it be quick? Would it hurt?

Would he end up howling like an animal on the ground?

...IF, he ended up like that Gunner.

Sanford actually managed to find his corpse among all the dead in the plaza's left flank- there was blood everywhere, burnt bodies, PIECES of burnt bodies orbiting around them... Sanford stood in the daylight, hanging over the outskirts of the row of dead.

He saw the Gunner boy he had killed- he was still there, obviously- eyes now closed, mouth a clenched line of straightness- his blood formed a pool underneath him, and it turned his uniform scab-colored wherever it soaked up.

Most of the corpses that still had recognizable faces, their expressions- were blank, eyes shut, sometimes open or lidded.

Most of them had been dead before they could really understand what was happening- that kind of made Sanford feel a bit better about it, that it was quick, even if they were who they were.

He noted about the young man, that his severed arm was nowhere to be found- as even all the severed limbs from the other corpses were pretty easily traceable to what came from who. Sanford reasoned it had probably been incinerated by the carbon molecules of his gun.

He looked at the body a little more, and then he just snapped himself out of it- all at once. He didn't want to linger anymore.

"They're gone." The Deathclaw grumbled from behind him- she stood there as he turned around, her yellow eyes narrowed in agitation- as they had checked around and in the windows of the carpenter shop, and all that was present were Minutemen bodies.

They hadn't gone inside- as when they started to try and push the door open, a portion of the second floor collapsed and flooded-out the lobby- Sanford didn't think it was good idea for him in the suit, or the Deathclaw's weight, to be tested in the unstable structure.

The Minutemen had gotten their help, and the survivors had just run away.

Really fuckin' nice. Sanford knew Jim was with them, and so was that Roe character- every body they had seen inside, even the ones in pieces that fell from the second floor- were NOT, either of them.

"We fight their war, and out they go," Sanford shook his head, standing in the middle of the street, looking down the way the Gunners had come from. "What the fuck."

"-Who cares?! We got to kick-ass! Major degree ASS, man! Hoo-rah!" Hancock boasted- floating beside his friend, he cuffed Sanford's pauldron with his claw- **_clk_** -and swayed back and forth in a little aerial jig. "-U.S.A! U.S.A!"

"The U.S.A. is a pile of cinders, man..." Sanford sighed. "Give it a rest."

"You just ENJOY shitting on the party table DON'T YOU?!"

"Yep."

"PARTY POOPER! Ha-ha! HA! Get it?! 'Cause you shit on the party table? HA!"

"...Jesus, Han'." Sanford chuckled. "What's wrong with you?"

"I suppose I could make a full comprehensive list, sir!"

"It would take two lifetimes to read that whole list."

"Bah! What do you know?"

"...I wonder where the rest of them went..." Sanford rolled his jaw, leaning fists on his armored hips. "We didn't kill all of them, after all."

"It certainly appears that we did, though," The Deathclaw stated from his other side- the three of them gazed to the plaza's northern end. "...What was this 'Mortar' weapon from before?"

"It's the mortar, and whoever ran when we wiped out the plaza," Sanford said. "There are a few people that aren't dead here... some of the infantry probably took off."

"Welp'! I suppose until we meet them again... They'll just have to WAIT to have their balls cut off! Ha-ha!" Hancock snapped. "Let's go home, people!"

"No." Sanford shook his head. "No I want to chase them."

"Monsieur'?" The Deathclaw sighed. "We won, the militia got away, isn't that enough?"

"No." He parroted. "Brody said they had a man on the inside, and that he was in a facility not too far from here... Those Gunners weren't just happening by here to attack the Minutemen, I think they're under a contract with whoever owns that facility, hell, maybe THEY own it."

"And lemme' guess," Hancock rolled his ocu-lenses. "We're gonna' charge them heroically, kick MORE ass, and find out?"

"'Bout right." Sanford smiled. "You both don't have to come with me-"

"Laughable." The Deathclaw sighed. "Lead the way, mon ami'."

"ONWARDS! In the name of Democracy! And- UNDERWEAR!" Hancock proclaimed. "WE SHALL FIGHT THE GOOD FIGHT! Fuck the leftists! Fuck the rightists! We're going with- THE HAN'ISTS!"

"You fell out of a hardware truck, and you're trying to be a warlord," Sanford dismissed, holding his rifle, trotting forwards. "It's amazing."

"And, STYLISH!"

"No wonder the two of you are so excentrique'," The Deathclaw mused. "You've been like this to each other for how long?"

"Ten or so years." Sanford shrugged. "Ten or so years and no regrets."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	42. Almost Died Today

_**So, I never, ever, EVER, take up chapter space for something stupid like a note, or an update on something happening to me, because I put them up there for anybody who gives two craps and wants to read it at their convenience, I know, you want the ACTUAL story I'm writing, not my life story.**_

 _ **But something happened today, that I feel, I really want to share with you on a person-to-person level, as much as I can anyway, through a keyboard and screen, right? Lol**_

 _ **I was driving on the L.I.E, because I live on Long Island in New York- and there was a woman driving behind me, she had blonde hair, sunglasses, and was driving a silver SUV, I think it was a Ford- she tailgates me, I give her the same treatment I give all tailgaters, and I slow down.**_

 _ **She gets pissed, swerves violently around me, cuts me off, and then purposefully slams on the brakes in front of me- I swerved to avoid her, lost control of my car, and WHAM!- I'm sitting there with my vehicle implanted into the wire guard rail in the middle divider island between the lanes, my windshield wipers are kicking, and there's dust everywhere.**_

 _ **This woman ran me off the road, and then drove away, like nothing happened. Cute, right?**_

 _ **So it was amazing actually, I had around three/four people pull over, and they were all like- 'Are you alright?' 'Are you hurt?'**_

 _ **-Here is the amazing thing I have to remember, through all my anger, my frightened demeanor that I experienced right after this, even after all the horrible things I said about this dipshit that crashed my car- I am grateful that I wasn't hurt, and that no one else was hurt, I mean, that's the bottom line- no injuries, that's good, I could've been easily killed or hurt, so, I have to be grateful for that even if I can't see it right now while I type this.**_

 _ **I had a girl pull over with me too, nice girl, goes to the same campus- she gave me a 'Lord Jesus Christ' -bracelet, stayed with me for a minute when the Sheriffs showed up, and honest to God (Huh, GOD, being the word here) -I am not a religious person, but I'm gonna' take that as a sign from whatever is up there, God, Allah, Jesus, a giant purple fluff ball that hugs people- I don't frikkin' know, but I took it as a sign.**_

 _ **So I sat with my poor little car, it's totaled, and because it all happened so fast, I never got the driver's license plate- so the cops showed up, this nice girl drove away after a bit when I said she should probably get to class, and all I had for company was this overhanging feeling that I was in a nightmare, and that I needed to wake up.**_

 _ **The two officers that showed up weren't much talk, of course, after all they see shit like that and a million times worse every single day practically, it's part of the reality of their jobs- I was just another person that had experienced something scary, what else could they say? They were understanding about it at least, I feel.**_

 _ **I get the car towed, an Emergency Service vehicle shows up, tugs my car from the guard rail, and this smelly guy in a tow truck mounts it up there, and I have to get into the truck's passenger seat that's littered with refuse and old parts, it was a mess.**_

 _ **We drive out with my car in the back- we reach the shop, because the driver didn't want to drive me out to my personal auto repair shop, so in addition to me going to this place out east I've never been before, I now have to call a SECOND company, to tow the car back to my personally used repair shop. It was a shit-show.**_

 _ **So I had to get my parent there, the good ole' mother unit- respect your mom, kids, there isn't another woman in the world like her for you, just remember that -we actually drove to my campus to look for this person's car, because, she was young too, I'm thinking she goes there- we obviously find nothing, so we drive home.**_

 _ **Now it's like, I dunno', crash happened at 10:00, it's 3:20 now, four/five hours ago? My car's ruined, I have to buy a new one, I don't have a ride to college, sucks- and I'll never see this woman in my life again, even though she should be the one paying for it all. But you know, so is life, what the crap else can I do, right?**_

 _ **It's ironic that this happened too me right after I typed a recent chapter for Camera Angles, where Phil and Foxy get pulled over by a state trooper- (Which I'll post when I get my thoughts together, I guess) -it was actually one of the secondary thoughts that flew into my head as I was sitting in my wrecked car.**_

 _ **Straight out of one of my stories, I shit you not- the radio's still playing Smash Mouth, the windshield wipers are going- I'm sitting there with bared teeth and clenching the wheel- I lightly reached over, turned off the radio, took the keys out, and slumped back.**_

 _ **I don't think I'll ever forget it, that feeling, of seeing the world flying by like that, my hands swerving the wheel, the way your mind just goes blank- lemme' tell you something, it's fuckin' scary.**_

 _ **Here's all I have to say about it in the end- I'm alive, I didn't get killed, no one else got hurt or killed, so, YEAH, I have to buy a new car- (I dunno' even where to start with that) -but I didn't croak, so I have to see the light in that. Probably was Grandpa helping me out, thanks Grandpa! Lol**_

 ** _Don't speed, do yourself a favor when you're driving. Don't drive so aggressively, this woman was, and look what happened. Don't take every day you have for granted- I got up this morning stressing out about my first day back at the college, and guess what, it turns out a near-death experience had too be the thing I REALLY needed to be prepping for._**

 ** _'WTF' right?_**

 ** _If you've read that giant block of text so far, than thanks a million! Means a lot too me, hope it doesn't happen to me again._**

 ** _So unless Godzilla starts rampaging through Manhattan or something, here's what I can promise- I will never, ever, EVER, take up another chapter slot with a notification. :P_**

 ** _I'm off to Kelly-Blue-Book or some shit._**

 ** _Hope your day is extremely more awesome-sauce than mine- I think I got the fuck-head flavor today._**

 ** _~Don_**


	43. Chapter 42

**CHAPTER 42**

 **Men of Wires and Metal.**

* * *

Tracking the signatures of the fleeing foes wasn't the issue that Sanford or Hancock were troubled with- it was actually the easiest part about what they were doing.

The issue that Sanford mostly had, seeing as Hancock was perfectly content to just throw himself at danger and go with whatever happened- like the crazed thing he was -was the issue of their scans locating the specifics of their target's location.

The scanners might give them brief trouble of deciding which level a target was on a multi-story building- as, it usually took a moment of examination to see exactly WHERE the scans were pointing. That second of time could give a sharpshooter all they needed to line up a reticule on any one of them.

Sanford didn't hold much confidence in Gunner snipers, as, they were notorious handling jobs with the following tactics-

-Move in with heavy weapons to chew everything up, have small squads of infantry advance under their own mortars or said heavy weapons, support the infantry with follow up robots and personnel reinforcements.

There were some pretty crazy notions the Gunners followed, and it was made even more mad, because the infantry willingly adopted it as their combat doctrine. The Gunners had a thing for advancing under friendly bombardment, and while you would think it would inflict greater losses, the unbelievable thing was, the Gunners actually took LESS whenever they were able to muster their full strength tactics in a fight.

It had something to do with how they trained their weapon teams, and the type of weapons they used- Sanford hadn't seen everything in their arsenal, and he doubted even most Gunner infantry knew every single thing their commanders had locked up back at their bases.

But the Gunners were mobile, they never stayed in one place for long, and they relied on salvaged pre-War military communications equipment to stay in touch across the Commonwealth and surrounding areas- that meant their heavy weapons needed to be mobile too.

The Gunners used robots even designed for that purpose, they were deemed- 'Fast' -types, and that revolved around stuff like Assaultrons, Sentry-Bots, Gutsy's- it was not as common to see Gunners using Protectrons or Robo-Brains, they were too slow.

Sanford had seen the Gunners with SOME of those models, but they were usually locally acquired, and the Gunners ran them to the limit until they were destroyed or broke down, and then they would disassemble them and use them for spare parts.

The Gunners were a problem for that reason, especially in an urban fight- they moved fast, they relocated fast, and they had hard-hitting gear that was designed specifically to move fast with them.

It wasn't the sniper's in-the-moment aim Sanford was concerned with, it was just IF, a sniper could get the jump on them. Again, Gunner snipers weren't as bad, as say some of the sharpshooters Sanford had heard of in the Brotherhood, or that guy with the Laser rifle from the quarry with the Enclave.

Snipers were snipers, and the Gunners were trained.

SO, even though it made them move slower- Sanford and his companions kept to the sidewalks of all the streets they passed through- compressed against the buildings, ready to jump off into alleys or side roads in case a shot rang out.

Surprisingly, though, in contrast to the paranoia- Boston City was relatively quiet as they pursued the retreating Gunner forces- no wildlife came out to strike at them, and they didn't run into any Mutants or thugs.

"Usually the city's crawling with those things..." Sanford muttered when the Deathclaw queried these forces.

"Maybe they've finally killed enough of each other." She sighed- behind him, watching the street ahead.

"Wishful thinking." He chuckled. "I've been waiting for the Raiders to die off for years... Doesn't seem to be working."

On the subject of such low people- the streets of Boston indeed had hit an all time low of similar caliber.

The streets were always in a stout U-shape, like skatepark ramp alleys because there was so much trash and rubble piled over the remains of the sidewalk that there were entire blocks that looked like they had once been the home of a long dried up river.

Most of the buildings were wounded with great gashes and angular tears down their stone or glass faces- revealing large slivers of white sunlight to burst forth from their shadowy interiors.

A scavenger bird cawed once in the backdrop- a nearby rusty car settled with a creaking disruption- but other than that, no gunfire, no explosions, no people.

They had been thrust into hell, and just like that, they vicously tore free of it and here they stood.

Sanford was flexing his teeth over his tongue- chewing lightly -he had his eyes flicking between the scanner readings in his helmet and all the windows he saw still intact on second or third stories or above that.

"I wonder if this is where they buried Joe Mcarthy!" Hancock observed sharply, flying to Sanford's flank. "Place has the quality he earned."

"I'm sure they didn't bury Joe frikkin' Mcarthy here, man." Sanford chuckled. "What is it with you?"

"I have LIBERTY fever! Hoo-rah!"

"Can you still remember the amount of people that walked these streets, monsieur'?" The Deathclaw mumbled to him from behind.

Sanford quirked a brow and angled over his shoulder pauldron. Meeting his gaze, she gave a little hop of her shoulders.

"Out of the blue question." She added.

"No problem at all. Yeah, I can, a little bit. I mean, they're FUZZY memories, but, they're memories."

"It must have been amazing."

"In the moment, before I knew what would happen? When I was innocent," Sanford shook his head. "No. I took my daily sights for granted, every day. Too late now, right?"

"Mm."

"In fact, the longer we chase these people, the closer we're getting to Charles River Dam," Sanford noted. "That was the road I took to my first baseball game at Fenway."

"What's the significance of that dam?" She asked.

"Well, it's the bridge that we need, leads deeper into the city, by the north end."

"And these... Scans...?"

"Point in that direction, yeah."

To their right, an expansive lot of pavement, probably a few miles wide- was gradually revealed past the shredded remains of an office building- there were clusters of ruined cars dotted throughout the dusty expanse.

The Deathclaw slowed in her walking as she looked across this vast space of nothingness- a few tall buildings were visible through the slightly foggy haze on the other side of the lot, and they were as broken and hollowed as all the others, even while blurred and faded at their bases.

The crumpeled remains of a bridge of somekind, an overpass- were folded and collapsed in a drawling limb that ran parralel to the lot's edge they were closest to- it extended as far as the eye could see, north and south- and the scorched remains of a subway car was meshed in with the pile a little away from them.

She saw it was a train track, obviously, if there were TRAINS wrecked in it than what the heck else could it be?

"There was a rail line here?" She asked, watching her heels as she navigated in a slight dip in the pavement- a crack, that actually made the level of street she was standing on a head taller than the patch ahead.

Sanford stopped at the edge, waited for her to step down from the difference in the fissure- and then hopped down beside her-

 ** _BMMk_**

-The suit rattled.

"That overpass was already ancient even when the bombs hadn't wrecked everything," Sanford said. "Boston IS one of the oldest cities in the country."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah," Sanford admonished. "Just like New York, Philadelphia, Providence- they all date back to the Thirteen Colonies."

"The English colonies, monsieur'?"

"Yep."

"I read about them briefly, I had meant to research them further if I ever was granted another chance at books on the subject."

"What a bunch of NERDS!" Hancock snapped in interruption. "All ya' need are the fat glasses and the plastic pocket protectors! You'll be set for Dork-ville'! And by extension- COMMUNISM VILLE!"

"You think nerds are Communists?" Sanford asked, interested. "That's new."

"Nerds, Jehova's Witness, Telemarketers, Bank Tellers, Meter Cops, CEO's, Strippers, and fuckin' Adolph Trump!"

"...I... I don't think that last person was... Do you mean, Adolph Hitler AND Donald Trump?"

"What's the difference?"

"PFFT-HA-HA-! OH man- HA!"

The Deathclaw understood the logic with Hitler, but this other person was lost knowledge to her.

She raised a brow as the man and robot cackled in the center of the sidewalk.

"Not to kill the mood, but, who are we discussing?" She asked.

"-Oh," Sanford sighed, smiling. "A long, LONG time ago, before the war was even a concern, a while after the Cold War, I think? There was this guy who managed to run for being the president of the United States, and, the funny thing is, he was a racist, a bigot, he badmouthed everyone and he liked using- 'It'll be great!' -a lot. Guy was out of his fucking mind."

"They should've hung him!" Hancock declared. "But NOOoooOOOOOooo... Where's the- 'DEMOCRACY' -in that, huh?!"

"Just so you understand how long humans were setting themselves up for disaster," Sanford said to her. "-The United States allowed someone like Mussolini to get a hairslength away from being our president."

"...That's... Terrible." She cringed. "People were that desperate?"

"People were that ANGRY, that logic just flew out the window." Sanford said. "I don't think there has ever been a time where we haven't made our planet a mess in some way throughout that age."

"See that?!" Hancock laughed. "You monkeys naturally fuck shit up! No wonder Mother Nature's such a bitch! Ole' girl's probably been raging so much she's on the perma'-rag!"

"Ssh." Sanford chuckled.

"There's the 'Rag' comment again," The Deathclaw sighed. "Elaborate?"

"Ugh, for God's sake, Han'," Sanford rolled his eyes. "It's the menstrual cycle, you know what that is?"

"So, you thought I was OVULATING a few days ago?!" She snapped. "Degoutant' petite' merde'!"

 ** _CLK_**

-She reached over and flicked him in the back of the helm.

"-Ow-!" Sanford was laughing so much that he didn't really process the jerk of motion. "-Jeez', alright! Alright!"

Up ahead, partially breaching through the consistent hiss of a quiet wind- the moaning ambience that always showed forth the haunting stillness of Boston's streets- there was lapping water, it wasn't roaring, nor was it loud enough to be immediately recognizable.

They reached the edges of a four-way intersection- and from where they stood, the lanes looked absolutely massive, in not only size, but just from a sense of intimidation.

Down to the right, that lead deeper into more garbage-strewn streets, back towards Somerville, left was an entrance into the great lot, it was blocked by collapsed concrete from the railroad bridge that was crippled in full extension down north and south.

Straight ahead, the road wound for a bridge that was flanked with a plateau of structures on its right- one was larger, rectangular and not as ruined- the three of them stood on the intersection corner of the sidewalk and gazed in all directions.

Sanford knew that building up ahead, it was... What the heck was it again... He'd been there as a kid... He'd remember when they passed it.

"Sir! Gunner-douche' signatures detected, straight ahead! In THAT building! THERE!" Hancock snapped, pointing a drill at the building flanking the Charles River Dam bridge.

"Are you sure?" Sanford raised a brow- blink activating his own signature scan in his internal HUD. "It looks like they're NEAR the building, not in it."

"Check again, you monkey!"

"...Oh yeah, good eye', Han'."

"OCU-LENSES! Not eyes! Uneducated PLEBIAN!"

Sanford shook his head- he peered down the right lane that was flanked on both sides by taller buildings- and he peered ahead, not even bothering with the boring nothingness of the left.

The scans said no living organisms were present in their vicinity, but... It was out in the open.

Sanford chewed his tongue.

"I'll go out first." He said. "I have the armor, if someone starts shooting, get to cover, got me?"

"Why can't I be the test-dummy?!" Hancock cried. "I LOVE explosions!"

"You're a 'Dummy'- alright, usiner'." The Deathclaw chortled.

"EAT ME!"

"My God, Han', SHUT. UP." Sanford groaned. "You're gonna' let every Gunner in the tri-state area know where we are!"

"I don't have to listen to the likes of YOU! Communist sympathizer!"

"Holy shit..." Sanford grunted, turning away. "Keep your eyes open, Deathclaw."

"Mm."

Sanford took a deep breath, and stepped into the street.

 ** _clm_**

 ** _clm_**

 ** _clm_**

 ** _clm_**

 ** _clm_**

His boots echoed against the pavement in his cautious trot.

-The building where the Gunner sig's were coming from was too far off for anything but a sniper to be effective from that range- but Sanford kept his eyes on the slot-like windows of the concrete walls- the building was still pretty small for how far it was, and there was plenty of cover from commercial structures to the intersection, and subsequent street's- right flank.

A scavenger bird fluttered from a second story window above his head- he cringed at the sound of the mutated avian's ruffling feathers drawing briefly through the air.

There was no gunfire, no shouting... The Gunners were probably deep inside, or, they just hadn't seen him.

It was possible they set up on the wrong side of the building from where they had ran to- that happened with a group of highwaymen once- Sanford and Hancock had entered one side of a three story office structure, and it turned the bandits had propped up on the second story, overlooking the streets on the opposite side by complete error.

Sanford was soon on the opposite side of the intersection, and, standing there- he listened for a good minute, sighed- arced his arm in a gesture for his friends to follow him.

The Deathclaw jogged to catch up, and Hancock levitated beside her. Sanford waited on the sidewalk for them- and he peered ahead at the building again.

There had once been gardens and hedges surrounding the property, and all that was left were brown clusters of dead sticks jutting up into the air from all those once lush plants. The bridge was dabbed with a handful of rusty cars, and a passenger bus that was pulled off to the left lane facing the wrong way.

There were clouds building in the sky above- it wans't so clear and blue anymore, as, they had been traveling through the city for a good while now, Sanford hadn't kept track.

The concrete trench that fissured the canal underneath the bridge dropped for the dark water below, extending far right and left- the buildings on Sanford's flank prevented him from seeing all the way down to the right, and some squat warehouses to the left ceased any further sight seeing there too.

There were only some faint sloshing sounds- like small waves just brushing against the mildew-encrusted concrete of the canal's walls, and against the plazas built along its lower levels. Sanford rooted in his spot- he tried to remember what this building had looked like when he had been there as a boy, but... He just couldn't.

There was a sign, rusted, and with portions torn away in place of ragged blackness to its hollow interior- it was on a marble pedestal, and the metal had once been painted white- it read, in silver letters-

 _Museum of Science, Massachusetts_

-And just like that, Sanford's memory was jogged.

"That's the Museum of Science." He said, falling into step with his companions to his rear. "I completely forgot."

"No shit, Sherlock!" Hancock grunted. "There's only a gigantic SIGN out front that SAYS THAT. What's wrong with you, man?!"

Sanford didn't humor the response.

There was the flattened remains of some kind of large structure that bordered the Museum ahead from the buildings down here- it was a giant pile of cracked concrete, fallen support struts and twisted girders- Sanford saw smashed cars mixed in with the debris- it had been a parking garage, probably.

It took them a minute to reach the edges of that wreck- the three of them slunk alongside a drawing concrete wall that had once been part of the garage's base structuring- there was an old police cruiser left for scrap on the side of the road that they passed to the left.

Sanford glanced at it, and saw the windshield indented with a brick that was bigger than him- a human skeleton was pancaked against the dashboard, arms caught under the wheel, in the driver's seat.

The Museum's southern flank towered ahead of them- and Sanford peered around the concrete wall they compressed to- the sig's were saying the Gunners were inside, but they didn't have specifics.

The front entrance was too far for them to ring around the building's property- Sanford wanted to get inside as soon as possible- he still remembered that the Gunners had a mortar with them, he doubted they dumped it just to get away from him, they hadn't found any abandoned equipment in their pursuit.

"Han'," Sanford nodded. "See if you can fly to a higher vantage in the garage's ruins, right overhead, cover us."

"You got it! ROOFTOP DUTY! MY FAVORITE!"

"Quietly, God damn it!"

"Fine, fine... I see... Samantha-Soul-Slasher!"

"Jesus H. Christ, GO."

"TALLY-HO!"

 ** _FHHWMM!_**

-The robot shot up like a missile when he overloaded his thruster- all that was left with a quick distortion in the very air.

The Deathclaw reclined from her jump back, and snorted with a glance to the clear air above.

" _Found a flat surface! Setting up!_ " Hancock radioed.

"Got it." Sanford looked at her now. "There is a set of doors over there, see? The blue ones?"

The Deathclaw leaned over the corner and his shoulder pauldron.

An outcrop in the brick structuring of the museum- kind of like a kiosk- had a set of windows on either side, was connected to the crisscrossing sidewalks of the property by a walkway to a pair of blue doors.

"Get back in here-" Sanford was cut off when the second story slot windows on the flank of the building erupted in gunfire.

" _FUCKERS! We found 'em!_ "

"-DAMN IT-! MOVE!"

Sanford had his whole armored arm over her waist in a second- he tugged her back behind the concrete corner.

 ** _WHM-WHM-WHM_**

-A cluster of rounds screeched off the wall and the sidewalk- dust catapulted from still steaming fissures in the stone.

The Deathclaw bumped against the wall to her back- arms splayed, face contorted in a cringe- Sanford noted, as he peeled away from her, that her tail had stuck out rigidly between her legs.

"Je vous' remercie'." She gasped.

"That means thanks? I think?" Sanford called over as more rounds clipped about the sidewalk and the other side of the wall. "Hancock?! Where are they?!"

" _Second story window! Rapid-fire weapons! Hold on, I'LL save you, plebians!_ "

 ** _CLAK CLAK CLAK_**

-Green Plasma sailed into the slot windows from overhead- the gunfire stopped briefly- Sanford peered over the corner- tapped the Deathclaw's arm, and held his Laser rifle by the stock one-handed- pointing for the doors.

"C'mon! We gotta' run!"

"Out in the open?!" She almost shrieked.

"Han's covering us! COME. ON!"

He grabbed her by the wrist- and the slightly taller, more imposing reptile suddenly found herself being tugged in a sprint behind him as they ran across the pavement.

By the time Han's fire slackened- the two of them were across the pavement in a heart-stopping collection of seconds- Sanford slammed against the brickwork on one side of the doorway, and he tossed her over by the other side.

The Deathclaw had her mouth open for how hard she was panting- she stood by the wall and looked ahead at Sanford, trying to focus on his helmet's eye lenses.

Someone shouted up on the second story of the building- it wasn't audible- rifles patted again, and Hancock's fire ceased as he dug deeper into cover in the ruins of the garage, wherever he had lodged himself in there.

"I'll breach the door," Sanford hoarsefully hissed to her- nodding at the blue doors. "You come in after me!"

"Okay." She swallowed.

Sanford started to shift over- he was going to drop-kick the doors- a comedic comparison of the old 'Cop' television series flashed in his mind very quickly.

Something bounced off the roof to the kiosk- it looked like a rock -it landed on the pavement right behind him- rolled to stillness.

"MONSIEUR'!"

"Wha-'?!- FUCK!"

Sanford dropped his gun- it clattered on the pavement- the suit whined and creaked, and in the span of five seconds, he wheeled around, grabbed up the grenade- arced back his arm, and tossed it like a baseball as far as he could.

The grenade was a black dot as it sailed several feet over the dead clusters of ferns nearby- a moment later, a plume of chunk-filled dust belched over the brush-line.

 ** _CLK!_**

 ** _clkclk_**

-Another grenade landed nearby.

Sanford was over to it, and he threw it in the OTHER direction.

 ** _clkclkc_**

-"AAGGH!" Sanford screamed in frustration- he was like a pitcher in the old Red Sox games he had seen as a child- this grenade vanished over a chainlink fence to the museum's back property.

Sanford looked up- cursed again -and shouldered up to the brick of the kiosk.

 ** _whmwhCLKCLCKLCKCLCK_**

-Bullets clocked the trim and roof of the kiosk, the sidewalk he was on.

Breathing heavily, Sanford picked his gun up- glanced upwards again.

"Fuckin' guy's got a shoulder MG'."

"A what?!" She called over.

"Gotta' breach the doors! Here we go- you ready?!"

"I- I don't-"

"Are you ready? Here we go- one-two-three-!"

 ** _CLMAK_**

-Sanford checked the doors with his pauldron and arm- they snapped aside in either direction, dust flinging from their ancient frames, one of the handles clattering away on the concrete floor inside like a high pitched chime.

The Deathclaw ducked and slipped inside the frame after him.

" _...They're inside-! FRANK!_..."

The hall they entered broke for a doorframe that lead into a big seating area up ahead- Sanford and the Deathclaw were already compressing themselves to the doorway's sides as gunfire erupted from inside the lobby chamber.

 ** _CLKCLKCLCCLCKCLCKCLK_**

-Bullets licked through the open doorway, right past Sanford's face and past her chest level- they ate into the brick frame too- Sanford was thankful it was made from what it was- if this had been plaster, they would be in trouble.

Sanford minimized the organic scans- he picked up seven sig's in the chamber beyond.

"There's some behind the chairs, monsieur'!" The Deathclaw jerked her head back- she was forced to hold her chin high- as, the elongation to her narrow skull kind of made it harder to keep her head in such a small space.

Sanford glanced- leant back, gripped his gun, and aimed it over the corner.

 ** _PMPMPMPMPMPMPM_**

-Red bolts punched through the rear row of chairs out of the block of them set up in the center of the chamber- he heard a scream.

"- _Two contacts! Squad base, iota!_ "

" _Frank's down!_ "

" _Fuckin' piece-a'-shit!_ "

Sanford saw that there was a second story catwalk- connected to the seating area by two stairwells- the further insides of the building were too shrouded in shadow, and not important enough, for any more detail.

Sanford switched his night vision filters on even though he could see in the shaded chamber- it would outline any of the Gunners if they were out in the open.

"-They're on the catwalk!" The Deathclaw hissed. "Mid-center, monsieur'!"

Sanford repeated his prior attack.

He peaked, shot back, waited, and then aimed around the corner.

 ** _PMPMPMPMPMPMPMPPMPM_**

-He strafed the gun from left to right across the white-painted aluminum plates acting as railings for the catwalk above- the shots pierced right through it- something tumbled, and red energy misted from the pulsating gashes it tore in the metal, and from where the shots kept going and burned into walls on the second story.

" _-Fall back! Get the fuck outta' there-!_ "

" _-I'LL KILL YOU!_ "

Footsteps, echoing, distant.

Sanford leapt from cover and stood in the doorway- he aimed down the sights, saw a cluster of helm domes jerking farther and farther away from the railing up there as the Gunners' fell back deeper.

"Come on, keep up the pressure!" He barked to the Deathclaw. "Up the stairs!"

Ahead, past the stairwells, if they stayed on the first floor- there were doorways that lead to the once varying and vibrant exhibits and showrooms on the first floor- if they weren't in a firefight, he would've argued going to check them out.

But there were no life signatures down on their level as far as he could tell- and wiping these Gunners out was more important.

They ran around the rows of metal, white-painted chairs that centered the chamber- both on the right flank- when they reached the foot of a staircase on the right side- Sanford glanced back and saw a pair of corpses mangled on the other of the ruined rear-line seating.

"Good spotting." He commented over his shoulder.

"Good shooting." She breathed.

Sunlight streamed in from large canvas windows that were two-stories tall on the left flank of the chamber- to stand against the shady interior of the museum- it was a big room, and there were ceiling panels that were loose above.

Sanford just noticed it as the stairs thudded under his boots.

They reached the second story- it had a red carpeted floor, it was a small seating area, there was a cafe that was accessible by double doors straight ahead- there were three bodies lying on the floor by the railing to their right.

Sanford took a second after clearing the top step- he stood by the bodies after peering around the seating area- he found an abnormality with one of them, as, two were typical for Gunner attire- drab-colored combat padding and uniforms.

But one man was shirtless- he had pitch-black leather shoulder pads with red lines painted in a tiger-pattern across them up and down- a combat belt held black leather stocks draping in a skirt over his bare legs- he had cleated boots, and a bolt action rifle was in his cold hands.

He'd been hit in the stomach- there was a blackened, crimson-matted gash right center his gut- and his eyes were still open as he had folded on his back, arms hugging his gun across his chest.

"Monsieur'? What is it?" The Deathclaw asked.

"He's not a Gunner." Sanford mumbled, nodding at he corpse. "Look at him, He's not Gunner."

"...So, what? What does that mean?"

"Follow me, c'mon."

They checked in the cafe- and that was empty, so they tried to ring around to the right, where Sanford had seen the heads of their foes recede to up here.

A hallway extended ahead- the walls here were no longer brick, but plaster, and orange painted- now matted with age and damage, torn in places. Sanford didn't like that- plaster walls in urban fighting were simply bad news, no dressing it up.

They rounded the corner of the hall-

"YAAAGGGHH!"

-And there was another guy- not a Gunner- but in this black red-painted leather attire like the fellow before him- standing in the center of a left-right intersection, and in his hands he had a two-handed weapon- Sanford saw the model, and he raised his gun without even bothering to dive for cover.

It was a light machinegun- he had to kill the guy NOW.

 ** _PMPMPMPMPMPM_**

-Red beams scythed out, the guy's scream was cut short, and the man flung backwards at such an angle, and with such force- Sanford saw the soles of his cleated boots.

The man kicked in the air and fell flat on his back with a cluster of blackened, cauterized welts drawn up and down his chest and stomach- the machinegun barked, flashed the whole hall a bright yellow for a moment- and tore ten holes in the ceiling above.

Sanford advanced down the hallway without delay- the Deathclaw staying close behind him. The body was just being neared when an arm extended around the left corner of the intersection- Sanford ducked, he reached behind and shoved the Deathclaw's shoulder downwards.

The Gunner held an SMG one-handed- the gun discharged and rounds flew right over their heads.

"FUCKIN'-GOD DAMN-!" Sanford screamed- wincing as he aimed and fired a cluster at the corner ahead.

 ** _PLK!_**

-A squelch of ruined organics- blood streamlined and formed a drawing arm across the orange wall at the end of the hall- the Gunner screamed, and he fell on his side right dead-center the carpet floor- everything below the wrist a cauterized stump.

"NO! NO! NO! NO-!" **_PMPMP_** -Sanford put two shots in his chest to shut him up. The body wriggled, turned on the other side like an earthworm would recoil from being touched- stopped moving.

 ** _BMbmbm_**

-Thudding from the right.

The Deathclaw snarled- Sanford's suit creaked as she wheeled around him, and flew down the right of the intersection- he summarily followed up and aimed down the left.

They both ran into people at the same time.

Two women, two men- just working their way down the right hall- they all tumbled over each other when the Deathclaw hurled herself at them.

Sanford went wide-eyed- he fired on reaction from what he saw, and from hearing the yelling from both sides of himself- there was a Gunner guy a few feet away- he had a Laser rifle too- Sanford fired once- **_PMPMPMP_** -and the poor schmuck's head popped off and flipped in a cartwheel of ringing blood through the air, bounced off the carpet just ahead of the falling body.

"FUCKER!" Another Gunner called, vanished in a doorframe ahead- and Sanford took his cue to get back behind the corner.

"DEATHCLAW! HIDE!" Sanford called over.

She had just run the last one through by the gut- the woman howled as she was compressed to the wall, lifted off her feet from where she had been stuck-through- and the Deathclaw tore her nails free, to watch the body slide down the plaster, and leave a trail.

She sneered- heard Sanford cry out too her- and looked down the hall to the left- straight ahead.

She saw the movement, glanced both ways- saw another doorway on her end, and she vanished inside it- curling in the shade of a small cubicle-like office- a desk shifted on tiled floor as she bumped into it.

Sanford jerked to aim over the corner, and zipped back behind the corner when the Gunner pumped two rounds into the plaster.

" _Feng! On me!_ " Came from deeper down the way.

"HELP ME KILL THIS FUCK!" The Gunner shot back inside the doorframe- Sanford sprayed the arch and ducked back the second he saw the man's gun worm around the bend.

The walls inside the office must have been different from the plaster- the laser energy wasn't piercing.

"FENG! GO-GO!"

Sanford rose, gun raised- was forced back down when carbine fire peppered the hall- he saw a glance of two more people jump doorframes further down the hall- moving closer.

"GET OVER HERE! KILL THIS GUY!"

"FUCK YOU, MEAT!" Sanford called back over. He sprayed the whole hall with the next cluster of shots- caught one of the pair that were switching offices again- he heard a dry heaving, like someone choking on sand- a body rolled on the floor down there.

"I'M GONNA' FUCKIN' KILL YOU!"

Sanford didn't respond, even though his adrenaline boggled mind WANTED him too.

"Han'? Where are you?!" He called into his helm's mic.

" _Keepin' these mutha's on the second floor busy! HURRY IT UP, COMMIE-SUCKER!_ "

"Workin' on it!" Sanford rounded the corner- he aimed from the hip, sprayed the entire hallway, and then lined the iron sights with his helm lenses, concentrated a stream of fire on the doorframe closest.

The man inside screamed as a cauterizing bolt of energy clipped him somewhere- it was so quick that Sanford didn't see the exact point of impact. The flailing man flung himself back inside the little office behind the arch- Sanford stormed ahead, and flew through the frame after him.

"-GGAAAH! GAAAH- FENG! FENG HE'S IN HEEEERRRREEE-!"

Sanford held the trigger for a second and drew a few bolts up the guy's gut to his chest where he was sprawled on the floor- his boots stopped squeaking against the tile, legs and arms stopped thrashing- Sanford now saw a stilled older fellow with long blonde hair, a beard almost bigger than his head draping to collar level- eyes still open, locked to the ceiling.

 ** _bm bmBM BM-_**

-Someone ran up from behind.

Sanford had his rifle on his hip, and the Minuteman cutlass he had acquired was in his grip- he flicked the rune just beneath the hilt- and for the first time, he powered the blade up.

 ** _wwhm-WSK! bzzzzzzzzzz..._**

-The blade made a snapping sound, like a whip, almost- electricity coiled and sung, the metal now glowed a ghostly, and hellish tint of red- like the carbon-based energy of projectile laser weapons.

He stood in the doorway to this room, and he watched another of this second group of people he and the Deathclaw were encountering- the guys in the leather and ragtags -scramble into the arch with a little trench knife in his grip.

The guy was ugly as all fallen sin- he had a thin little strip of hair over his lip that KIND of looked a parody of a mustache- and he had yellow teeth, most of them missing- Sanford saw this because as his opponent stopped in the doorway- his lips had been curled back in a sneer.

The two men looked at each other- this highwaymen had to look UPWARDS slightly, and Sanford downwards.

Obviously, there was a more prepared body here.

The guy jolted- like he had been electrocuted- his lips snapped shut- his eyes got all big and bulgy- the blade fell from his fingers- **_CLM! CLMCLCMLCMclmclcm..._** -rattled away on the tile of the office.

"Boo." Sanford grunted, wringing his gauntlet's fingers on the handle of the sword- the armor chose that moment to creak in settle.

The thug spiraled around, and then tumbled BACK inside the office- when he saw that the Deathclaw was hunched over right outside the frame.

"-OH-FUCK-!"

Sanford had a fist clenched over his throat- the blade was hung by his side.

"We plan on taking prisoners, mon ami'?" The Deathclaw asked.

"Didn't count on it. Worked out." Sanford mumbled.

She stepped aside, and Sanford stomped past her back towards the intersection of the hallway- the thug was gagging, and hacking as he stumbled to keep up- his head bowed, legs kicking- his face was turning beat red, and his eyes were triple their regular size.

"What are you doing with it?" She persisted- the thug made a whining noise when he realized it was the MONSTER speaking like that.

"Sit down." Sanford underhand tossed the poor slob onto the bloody carpet of the hall- right before the sprawled body of the guy who had the light machinegun from before.

It wasn't exactly SITTING DOWN, but, when this fellow rolled still on the floor- he sat up on the ground, holding his arm up, mouth flapping without audible speech- Sanford had what he wanted.

"What's your name, creep?"

"F-FENG!" He answered louder than needed. "FENG, NAME'S FENG!"

"You a Gunner?"

"NO! NO! BOSS PAID THEM!"

"...Your boss has to be pretty rich to afford Gunner service," Sanford nodded, impressed. "What's his name?"

"I DON'T KNOW NOTHIN'!"

"Wrong answer."

 ** _CLK_**

-Sanford just slapped him upside the head- and the gauntlet made this rattling shriek against the guy's temple.

"-AGH! -DAMNITMAN!" Feng reeled on his side, holding his head with both hands. "THAT HURT! STOP!"

"Oh Jesus," Sanford growled- he hadn't even put any EFFORT into that. That was a little girl slap. Guy was a bitch. "Boss' name, now."

"THIS AIN'T SOME-SOME- LITTLE THING! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAN'-!" **_CLK_** "-OW! STOPIT! STOPITPLEASE!"

"I'll give you one last chance, answer my fucking question and I won't shoot you."

"HARK! HIS NAME'S HARK! LEAVEMEALONE!"

"Why are you and your boys paying Gunner mercs?"

"THEMECHPEOPLEHIREDUS!"

"Repeat that for me?"

"GUYS! MADE! OF! FUCKING METAL AND WIRES, MAN! SAYS THEY'RE FROM AN INSITITUTE! IT'S MESSED UP MAN! IT'S MESSED UP-!"

 ** _CLK!_**

-Sanford got angry, he took the butt of his rifle and slammed it into Feng's ugly head, and then the thug tumbled over like a sack of potatoes on the carpet- he was still, eyes shut, mouth half opened, drooling.

Looking down at the unconcious one with a sneer of distaste- the Deathclaw watched Sanford step over the bodies and start to move for the hall ahead- the one that branched right.

"I didn't understand a thing he said, if that's consolation." She stated. "Did you kill him?"

"He said the Institute hired them." Sanford said. "There's something going on here. Coincidence that it's the Museum of Science? I don't think so."

"Thus... We... Do what?"

"Find this- 'Hark' -fellow."

"Where?"

"Follow the soldiers," Sanford gestured for the corpses everywhere. "Find the leader."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	44. Chapter 43

**CHAPTER 43**

 **One Link, Leads to Many.**

* * *

The Museum of Science was far from its old days of being a family attraction in the city of Boston, it had become dilapidated, haunted with essences of death- though surprisingly, it remained structurally sound to a well off degree, even if the building was blown out.

So far, through what Sanford and the Deathclaw had seen- the second floor employee offices and demonstration rooms were where the Gunners and their apparent- 'Clients' -chose to make their stand.

 ** _PMPMPMPMP_**

-"ACCK-!" -The Gunner flipped like a pinwheel with misting carbon fluorescently trailing from the fatal wounds in his chest- the body thudded on the tile floor.

"YAH!" The Deathclaw tugged back, hard, with her hand- and the final corpse slouched heavily against the plaster wall before her- Sanford and her stood in a windowed chamber, where the floor was COVERED in corpses.

There had to be at least fifteen people here- fifteen Gunners, Sanford didn't count until he started to lazily drag his eyes about the cadavers- but they were all here, faces frozen, or blown off, their bodies ruined, broken.

Even though the fight was over, Sanford was still breathing heavily- his arms had a bit of a tremor to them- in a near whisper, he radioed over to Hancock and told him to enter the museum through the same door they had breached.

Everytime Sanford shifted his boots, an arm or a leg would be slacked over, or out of the way- the massive suit of Power Armor towered over the mounded dead like some scion of oppression, of defiance maybe.

"...Monsieur'?" The Deathclaw asked, nodding for the doorframe they had entered in order to enact the massacre. "...Let's not stand in it."

"...Yeah."

At one point in the past, the good old past where people were civil, and things like... THIS, weren't even real- this rectangular office had been a board room of some kind, probably once had a long table for all the museum heads to sit at, a big marker board on the end of the room with some boring guy in a suit standing next to it, talking about revenue.

Sanford liked that idea. Let's talk about something stupid like that, something BORING.

Revenue for a museum, why the hell not?

Sanford liked boring.

 ** _CLK!_**

-He stopped watching where he put his heels down, and a bone wetly snapped down there.

He shut his eyes, and exhaled through his nose in a long hiss from the stuffiness it usually suffered. The man blinked a few times and soon was out the doorframe of the room, back into the crisscrossing orange halls for the staff cubicles of the upper floor.

The Deathclaw was hunched in order to compensate for her slightly larger size in the passways- she watched him slowly materialize from the interior of the staff room- his armor's rear highlighted, silvery, against beams of light from the windows overlooking the ruins of the parking garage from before.

"Han'? Are you in yet?"

" _Hello?! ECHO! I'll make the Communist's soil themselves with my whale-chanting! wwwWWWAAAHHHHHooOOOOO-!_ " Sanford rolled his eyes and cut the link.

"Yep. He's in the lobby."

"Now that we've killed all of them, we still don't have a man named- 'Hark' -unless, he's amongst the dead?"

"No these were all mercs'." Sanford sighed- looking back inside the office. "What a day."

"Wiping out small armies isn't a past time for you, mon ami'?"

"...-Why do you excessively use that, huh?" He suddenly snapped. "'Mon ami'- 'Monsieur' -I'm pretty sure people in whatever France used to be didn't use it that much."

She looked at him for a long while, her face unreadable, even with the elongated reptilian features being in dominance- he could at least tell her expressions all the time, and this time it was blank.

"Would it make you feel better if I said- 'Sorry'-?" She asked indignantly. "Does my speech BOTHER you?"

"No-! I never said- fuck it, don't jump down my throat."

"Don't jab at me and not expect one in return."

"I didn't jab, I asked a God damn question."

"I'm not doing this right now," She growled. "Stop talking."

"That's just the answer right?" He nodded smartly. "Yeah, sure, I like killing people, it's a fuckin' fun thing for me to do, right?"

"I never said that, grow up."

"Excuse me?" He roared, stomping closer to her- the hall actually shuddered. He had an angle in his stance as he kept it going. "What the fuck was that?"

"GROW. UP. Monsieur'." She snarled dully- blinking at him.

"...Yeah, yeah, that's really it, you understand, you GOT it, dontchya'?"

"Let's get the usiner', and drop this entire thing."

"You mean just to run away from it, right? Now that we're on this page, might as well point that out, right?"

"You're talking nonsense, I don't have the PATIENCE, for it." She barked.

"Apparently you don't have the PATIENCE for a lot! Seeing as you just run away from so much!"

"..." The Deathclaw had her top chop curling in this twitching recede- it was a little thing, nothing dramatic, like bared teeth, or an outright sneer, or a frown- it was just a lip twitch. She was livid enough that she felt like hurting him. "...Fuck you."

"Mmhm. Yep. Fuck me, you got it."

"That is right, le connard'."

"I don't even wanna' know what the hell you just said," Sanford dismissed. "Though I suppose that would go ten times over, seeing as you know so many dead fuckin' languages."

She clenched her jaw, and stalked down the hall ahead of him without a word- her tail swayed slowly behind her, and her claws were draped over her knees because of the hunched stance she was forced into.

Sanford watched the reptile vanish around a bend they had taken that lead closer to the lower floor- he stood upright, back arching, with clenched fists, and a screaming shadow of rage overtaking his logical thinking.

His arms quivered with how much he clenched his fingers- he snapped his gun off the mag' grip on his hip plating, held it one handed, and followed with a lumber in his step.

It added to the overall- 'Overflow' -feeling, he would word it as- this powerful surge of animation, the adrenaline from the life-threatening hell from before, the emotion that built up so much that it caused you to physically shake.

Sanford was so angry at that moment- he was stressed enough that he wasn't thinking clearly, and so, here she was, she said something on a whim that tapped his temper, and she hadn't even MEANT it too- and now he had responded twice as nasty.

The hallways were shockingly quiet after this little exchange- and he thought of it as shocking, because not even a few minutes ago, they were roaring with gunfire and screams of the dying.

They had had to fight their way through several corridors of the staff rooms and what looked like little laboratories for sample testing and miniaturized examples of larger exhibits- Sanford had to raise his boots several times to avoid crunching more bodies choking the halls.

Most of them were Gunner, but every now again, another of these mysterious men in the black leather would stick out like a sore thumb in the piles- Sanford had an eye to each of them as he passed.

" _Sir!_ " Hancock's voice still sounded like it was echoing in the background. " _I picked up more of them down here on the first floor! West side!_ "

"...Opposite of us?" He sighed after a minute.

" _Yep!_ "

"Figures."

" _Quit complainin', pansie'!_ "

Sanford was soon trotting down the same flight of steps they had used to reach the second story area- he passed the bodies up there again, and the stairs quietly echoed a tiny- **_bm bm bm bm bm_** -pattern as he footworked down it quickly.

Hancock was floating before the two dead that had been killed behind their little makeshift cover of the seating rows- now that Sanford wasn't hurling all over the room in a hectic firefight, he was able to see the corpses in somewhat detail.

There they lay, blackened, pock-marked where his rifle had skewered them- two guys, one with a mowhawk on his otherwise shaven head, right down the middle of the cranium, his temple compressed to the floor.

"Woo! You screwed up their shit, sir!" Hancock laughed- Sanford heard a tiny squeak as he stepped off the last of the stairwell, and realized that his robot had been draining more engine coolant on the corpse to the right.

"The bodies already wreak and now you're pissing on them?" Sanford groaned. "God damn it, Han'."

"Ha-HA! Take THAT! And then stick it up your little Red October hole, COMMIE'!"

"Where's the Deathclaw?"

"Eh? OH, yeah, the Chameleon- she went off, that-a-way!" Hancock jabbed his buzzsaw for the exhibit doors down past the stairwells- deeper into the center space of the building's first floor.

Sanford glanced down there and saw a set of gray double doors swung wide open- there was some sunlight coursing through from the shadows beyond.

He checked his armor's readings, and saw that the new heartbeat signatures were coming from that general direction- which meant that either, they had found yet MORE Gunners, or it was these highwaymen freaks that had apparently worked up the caps to hire them.

The suit gave off four confirmed separate life signs- this had to be it, the last of them.

"Are you gonna' help me clean house or what, man?" Sanford grumbled.

"Wha-?! But SIR! We're in the museum- OF SCIENCE!" Hancock cried. "Haven't we already soiled the prospect of education enough?!"

"...What?" Sanford blinked.

"-WHAT, is right! Education is for pencil-pushing, basement dwelling, womenless sack-lickers from Britain!"

"...I can't... I can't even understand what you're- What's your buff with the English? What'd they do to earn your little anti-Communist rant?"

"ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!"

"...Obviously."

"Obviously indeed! Let's go make Democracy proud and spill the blood of our misbegotten victims from dumb-fuck land! HA-HA!"

"I'd say to take a pill, but, you're a robot."

"Monkey-man!"

"Screaming arcade machine."

"CRAP-THROWING FLEA-EATER!"

"Obsolete."

"...Take it back."

"Nope."

"FUCK YOU AND EVERYTHING YOU STAND FOR! TAKE IT BACK!"

"Nu-uh." Sanford was already walking away.

"THE FIRST AMOEBA, THAT SPAWNED YOUR FAMILY LINEAGE- HAD A DICK THAT DIDN'T WORK!"

"Cells don't have dicks, Han'."

"WELL THAT ONE DID! SEE?! HA-HA! God even DESIGNED your family to start out as living phalic symbols!"

"At least I wasn't designed without any balls."

"...Y-You... YOU... YOU COLD HEARTED, BASTARD, SUNUVVABITCHCRAPSHOOTIN'-" Hancock got so animated, a spark flicked out from one of the rivets on his chassis. "-I'LL SHOW YOU! YA' FRIKKIN' UNDERDEVELOPED BABOON!"

 ** _CLK!_**

-A tin can from somewhere off the ground bounced off of Sanford's armor.

"TAKE THAT!"

"Ow. My pride." Sanford was ducking through the doors.

 ** _CLklckclckl_**

-A small rock that time.

"FEEAAARRR MEEEEEEEE-!"

 ** _BMK_**

-Sanford growled, slammed the doors behind him with two deft arm movements.

Shaking his head, the man took a moment to shift away from the gray, metal entries- he turned around, and actually took a step back at the sheer mass of what he was seeing.

The room was... GIGANTIC.

It was rectangular in shape, it extended up four to five floors- like a giant shopping mall, each level was barred from the center rectangular space by metal railings and plating- there were tens of old smaller exhibit rooms, shops, kiosks...

The place was massive, the floor was a gray tile and it still had some reflective sheen to it despite being as old as it was- a huge skylight was above at the top of the building's height- sunlight streamed in from a frame of bent aluminum, and shattered glass.

Trash and pieces of debris were scattered in a thin, massive coating about the floor over the entire room- and shards of glass shined up at him as he scanned the tiles, and then scanned the walls ahead, saw into the shadowy interiors of all the showrooms.

This was one of the entrance wings to the museum.

He glanced left, and saw down several feet, a whole row of automatic glass doors down an extension in the chamber- light caressed the space they left translucent with ruined girth, or no panes at all.

A big, shadowy giant- a quadruped, that Sanford was initially startled too- faced the doors down there as a guardian against unseen intruders, and a greeter to swarms of now absent guests. Missing sections of its ribs, a horn, and several toes and teeth- the skeleton of something Sanford had forgotten about, stood on a pedestal as large as a truck.

It was a triceratops.

After all this time, the skeleton still persisted.

Weathered, cracked, brittle, and missing portions... But it was there.

Sanford found himself trotting through the trash-strewn floor towards the big, long dead reptile- he traced the remnants of the tail curling in a 'C' shape from the base of between its hind legs- the feet placed in a dramatic spread-out pose to make it look like the dinosaur was tensing for a lunge, or a leap.

He saw the Deathclaw standing beside it- her head raised, arms lazily hung, as she gazed upon the long head of the dinosaur's great skull- its dark eye-sockets being the only thing to keep contact with her irises.

She didn't react as he quietly stepped towards her in the looming silence of the wing- the only sound being his boots sifting through cardboard, wood, pieces of stone and glass.

He watched the side of her head, in between of which, he glanced about at the floors above the first floor, and the staircases that spiraled up to them- he had the rifle in a one-handed hang by his hip. Since the scans were being quiet, he wasn't too concerned.

He was beside her, and the suit shifted as he expanded and contracted his chest in a great sigh.

She didn't even glance down at him- her yellow eyes locked to the skull of the dino' skeleton before them- her tail was draped, still, behind her, and her chops were curled down in a frown.

He blinked, and spiraled over to face it too.

...And together they just... LOOKED at it.

...It really was massive, he couldn't imagine such a beast walking around, well and alive.

...

...He started tracing some of the cracks on the bones, the sections of the ribs still left.

"...Torosaurus." -She suddenly muttered beside him.

Sanford swallowed- he didn't move a muscle, tried to look at her from the corner of his vision- remembered the helmet, and stopped trying.

"Triceratops." He croaked in correction.

"...Mm..." Their voices, even so low as they were- resounded several times across the nothingness that festered throughout the wing. It was haunting.

"..."

"..."

-Her heels hissed on the floor, and the Deathclaw slowly stalked off behind him- her tail flicking in the air behind her.

"...Where ya' going?" He asked, glancing over.

"Over here." She kind-of called back.

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to talk to you."

...So Sanford just kept looking at the stupid fossil. He didn't turn around to see where she went, he didn't call back to her.

...He just looked at the big dino' skeleton, and dwelled.

... ** _CLK_**

 ** _CLK_**

 ** _CLK_**

-Understand, that with each click of metal to metal, Sanford's shoulder jerked.

 ** _CLK_**

 ** _CLK_**

 ** _CLK_**

 ** _CLK_**

-"...Can you stop?" He mumbled.

Hancock reclined from where he had been jabbing his friend with his buzzsaw- focused all three ocu-lenses on the triceratops skeleton too.

"Holy shit, it's like watching paint dry." Hancock observed. "Ancient, dusty, cracked, and brittle... PAINT."

"I guess."

"Are we killin' these screw-ups, or not, sir?!"

"Yeah."

"Get your act together and change your panties! We wage war! FOR DEMOCRACY!"

"...-How many, did we say there were, again?" Sanford asked quickly.

"Four pube-chewers exactly! Sir."

"Let's go."

"RIGHT BEHIND YOU! ONWARDS- Oh, hey! Where's Repti-Smack?!"

"I dunno'."

"Shouldn't we find her?"

"I dunno'."

Sanford had walked around the side of the triceratops' display pedestal.

Hancock levitated in the spot for a second, glanced both ways, and raised the joints of his three arms all at once- before zooming off to follow his friend- the equivalent of a shrug.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Sanford had spent most of his natural life surviving. That was a fact, an obvious one- thoroughly proven throughout the last few weeks especially.

Outside of brief alliances, one-time deals of convenience with groups of people with similar mindsets- all Sanford had was his wits, his self-implemented talent, his robot friend, and a whole world filled with things that wanted to kill him for the sake of killing him.

He'd seen and met so many different kinds of people throughout that time- all those years -and they were kind of like wind waves, they came and went, and each left their own mark on him in their own way, some for good or bad.

Some of the marks were neither.

Some of the impressions that were left in Sanford's mind, his soul, his heart- he didn't know what to make of them... And those were the marks he feared more than any of the negative ones, the ones that filled him with anger or resentment whenever he thought about them.

The people that he met, that left him with a void of neutrality...

...They were rare.

Sanford had met people he passionately had hated- and it wasn't the childish term of hate- you know- 'Oh jeez', I hate that guy.' -it was the kind of hate that spurned mankind to things like murder, or destruction, spreading of strife.

Sanford had found people that were bare bones evil. Lost souls that didn't care for the well-being of those around them, lost souls that sometimes took it a step further and didn't care about themselves either.

So Sanford could safely, and confidently say- that he HATED, people who worked like that.

He'd seen their handiwork, the results on the environment around them, he'd heard them speak, he'd seen them destroy, he'd seen them revel in all of it. Thus, he hated them. With every fiber of his being he hated them.

He didn't fear, people he hated.

He didn't fear them at all.

He certainly didn't fear people he enjoyed, people who were good, had a sense of justice or civility, maybe both.

He didn't fear the honest people.

But the people he just could not understand, the people that did things he didn't comprehend, couldn't wrap his head around, or meld with to conformity in his daily thoughts... Those people scared him.

They scared him because he had seen so much, done so much... And somehow, you're telling him there was a soul out here he just can't understand? That was like telling an undisputed professional of a historic subject, that there was something they had never gotten in their entire life about the same thing they lived for.

It was mind boggling, confusing, daunting.

That was why Sanford just couldn't bring himself to find that Deathclaw.

She frightened him, in a sense.

No, her claws didn't frighten him, neither did her strength, her toughness, her temper, her speed, what she WAS even...

...She just confused him. He lapsed in his mindset over the last few weeks.

He wanted to push her away today. And even though she frightened his heart, his spirit- he didn't know why he did what he did. It just happened, and he went with it.

The dead, irradiated world kept turning no matter what.

Today, Sanford didn't have any more patience.

"-DON'T SHOO-"

 ** _PMPMPMPMPMPMPM_**

-Three figures were revealed from the receding shadows- their arms flew up, bodies went rigid- mouths opened as far as they could, eyes widened- and then they all fell onto the concrete with bands of pulsating crimson, carbon energy whisking from fissures in their chests and guts.

Three Gunners, all unarmed, lie dead on the concrete- and in the doorframe they had been facing, Sanford Tobs expressionlessly lowered his weapon, and leaned inside the frame to check both flanks.

When all was clear, he stomped through the archway, and Hancock was beside him once more with such free space.

Behind them, an exhibit hall branching from the previous wing, lead to a service chamber through a once locked maintenance door- and inside that door, here and now, it was revealed as a large stairwell of concrete, leading down into the depths of the basement levels.

Old metal boxes and stacks of flattened cardboard meshed with smashed wooden palettes in two stout piles on either end of the concrete chamber- the bodies were strewn before the first steps, and the stairwell lead down into a maw of blackness, straight ahead, no curls or turns or anything.

"Boiler rooms." Sanford muttered- stepping over the middle corpse of the three- the suit lurching at the higher arcs of its boots. "This guy is probably down there."

"No offense to the badass scumbag whacking," Hancock commented behind him- glancing down at the three dead men. "-But weren't the three stooges here trying to surrender?"

Sanford didn't respond- he was down five steps before Hancock zoomed ahead to stay behind him in the descent.

 ** _...bm_**

 ** _bm..._**

 ** _bm..._**

 ** _bm..._**

-Sanford's boots echoed down the stairwell forlornly- he switched on his night vision filters- and through the grainy black, he saw now a sealed metal bulkhead- one of those sliding mechanisms that were common in Maryland- he wondered what it was doing here.

The crank looked operational, and as far as he could tell, the door wasn't locked, or stuck.

"Check that out." Sanford said lowly. "I didn't think those were even around here."

"Surprises everyday! In the land of asshats and dashingly handsome 'Bots!"

Sanford flicked his eyes between the scan readings and physically looking at the door over a few times as he reached it- now that they were at the bottom of the stairwell, they now stood in another rectangular cell, the walls snaked with several trails of ruined wiring pipes.

Directly above their heads, a ventilation cap, rectangular wide- hissed a small cloud of dark steam from within its ancient shafts- Sanford discovered the little noise and was looking at the pre-War invention and its functionality in wonder.

"I'm going in." Sanford said finally. "This guy's either gonna' earn himself a shot in the head, or he'll surrender- I'm satisfied with both options."

"LET'S FUCK HIM UP! CHARGE!"

Sanford gripped the crank on the door, the metallic sleeves for his fingers creaking lightly against the steel as he clenched it- then he shoved to the left.

 ** _cccCRRKK-!_**

-The wheel shoved, turned once, and as Sanford stepped back, heard the industrial pulleys and locks inside the door mechanism shifting away and spinning- he raised his rifle and aimed down the sights.

 ** _clmclmclmclcmlcm-SHM-BM-Bmm_**

-The door slid away in two halves on either side, unfolding into its storage slots in the frame.

In all his time here, the only other instances of finding passages and networks like this had been in some of the pre-War military outposts he'd visited- but other than that, this kind of industrial architecture was limited in Boston.

-Not that it, of course, MATTERED... But it was an observation that did pique Sanford's interest- what were military grade framed tunnels doing underneath the Museum of Science?

He stepped through the frame, and the suit's heels clunked against floor that wasn't concrete, but steel, and gridded with tiny vent holes. He looked down at the transition- and then across this new space.

It was a hallway- it extended a few feet ahead, broke in two directions, a continuance north, and a tunnel heading right- the walls of the pass were block-like with varying levels of vents, electric boxes, they were snaked with pipes, some still hissing small jets of propelled steam.

Sanford started to trudge ahead- and Hancock's thruster leveled out behind as the robot kept a steady aim over his shoulders.

The passage was eerily quiet- Sanford's imagination started running as they neared the breakaway turn to the right- what if this last life signature, this last person, was some kind of a mutated freak, and it turned out they had already shot the REAL leader, and this was just some hermit outcast living down here?

It was a possibility- one time, he and Han' had gone inside a building a group of people were living in- they were just there to sell some of their scrap- and Hancock got nosy and started rummaging through a storage closet, inadvertently opened an automatic door to a cellar no one had seen before- and let out a swam of Feral Ghouls that had been trapped down there for decades without anyone knowing.

The only good news out of that stressful day was that they managed to shoot all of them without any of the people in that group getting hurt- though, they both had to lie about HOW the Ghouls got in to keep it more civil in discussion afterwards.

These tunnels reminded Sanford of Ghouls... Because these were the same tunnels crisscrossing under D.C., and cities like Pittsburg, Baltimore, Norfolk, Charlotte, the like- and those places were notorious for their East Coast industrial status when all the industries were moving West.

All the old industrial and military setups had Ghouls in them, because they were resilient, and the people inside them during the bombs usually were mutated and ruined instead of being outright killed.

Terrible, if you thought about it.

Sanford checked down the right pass with his gun aimed ahead- he saw another doorframe, opened, leading into a square chamber- and he heard something... Weird, coming from down there.

...It sounded like something metal, swaying.

Like a chain or...

"-Han', you getting this?" He mumbled.

"Aye."

"C'mon."

They covered the short tract to the right- and when Sanford reached the frame, the first thing he did was peer UPWARDS, and what he saw did a variety of emotional things to him- he felt intrigued, disturbed.

Hanging from several industrial pipes that intersected the ceiling of this new chamber- there was what looked like... Coffins.

They were metal, rectangular, and black in color- they had small control panels and screens on these aluminum plates on their right flanks- like a console of some kind -and they moved in ghostly whispers because of all the venting drafts flowing about the room.

There had to be at least twenty of these man-sized things hanging in two rows up there.

"Oh my God," Sanford mumbled. "Han', look at that."

"HOLY OYSTERS! Well, smack me upside the ocu-lense and call me a supporter of Detroit!"

"What is it?"

"Those look like Type-M7 government standard issue containment casks!"

"...You're right." Sanford admonished. "I forgot about them."

Long ago, the U.S. Army used these freezer casks to transport scientific evidence, or results from weapons testing, and there had been rumors they were using them to transport experimental organisms and robots before the war.

But Sanford had no idea what they were being used for here... Especially by the people that apparently had them.

He broke his stare to these casks, and looked about ground level- there were stacks of wooden crates on the other end of the room- an aluminum desk, a pile of what looked like electronics and spare wire coils on top of its surface.

Sanford ran a scan on the casks- and he came up with an anomaly.

"...Is that a robotic signature?" He asked as Hancock pulled up another scan of his own.

"Negative!" The proudly proclaimed. "That's Artificial Intelligence!"

"What the..." Sanford narrowed his eyes. "A.I. with mechanical recognition, but no life signs, and no robotics signs... What does that equal?"

"Beats me, sir."

"We'll have to ask our friend about this." He said, minding the one heartbeat still being picked up deeper north.

Hesitantly, they left the chamber of hanging military storage casks.

They went down the tunnel north.

Another bulkhead.

The heartbeat was coming from right behind it.

Sanford gripped the crank, twisted it to the right, and stepped back with his Laser rifle brandished.

 ** _SHM-BM-bm_**

-The door folded away.

" ** _WARNING. INTRUDERS, DETECTED-_** "

 ** _PMPMPMPMPMPM_**

-Sanford sprayed the figure with a quick burst- metal screeched, bolts of flashing electricity sparked everywhere and lit the darker chamber ahead white for a moment.

The body tumbled with a rattling of scrap, clunking of metallic limbs on the steel floor.

The robotic voice that had spoken drawled away in a tiny garble of static- Sanford stepped through the frame, aimed around the chamber with a quick sweep, and then looked down at his kill.

It was a Protectron model- the scans just... Didn't pick it up. What a time for an electronics glitch.

"Sir! Behind the desk!" Hancock snapped. "No one gets the jump on- THE HAN', and lives! C'MON, FUCKER! STAND UP AND FACE YA' DEATH WITH A LITTLE NON-PUSSY'NESS!"

"Stand with your hands up, and I won't blow your head off." Sanford called when he lined up sights with what Hancock did.

The chamber was mostly devoid of clutter- aside from a series of shelving units lined with more scrap electronics and some packaged foodstuffs- there was some tower-based computer equipment rolled in the left corner, three pieces in total- and an aluminum desk was in the rear center of the room, it had a monitor on it, and the last life sig' was coming from right behind it.

Both man and robot kept their weapons leveled with the desk.

"Let's go, prick." Sanford snapped. "Five seconds, and your dead."

"...Alright, look, buddy, don't... don't shoot, a'ight?" -A pair of grimy hands raised up from behind the desk, and soon a full man was back there- full height, with a shaven head, shaven face, dirt matting a lot of his features.

He was wearing the black leather attire his comrades were, and he had a workman's vest over the protective padding on his torso- he was a tad short, maybe only 4.9' at best?

"Who are you?" Sanford asked- he had stepped over the Protectron's pile, and was standing in front of the desk- this man now reclined his head from how close the barrel of the Laser rifle was jabbed in his face.

"Who are YOU? You killed all my boys, my mercs', who sent ya'?"

"That's not the fucking answer I want." Sanford growled. "I have no problem dropping you dead, right here, right now- the only reason I'm even CONSIDERING, letting you live, is because I wanna' know what you're doing out here."

"You don't already know?" He sputtered. "How'd you just happen on-?"

Sanford rounded the desk- and the man gasped in surprise when he gripped the back of his neck- like holding the scruff of an animal.

Sanford tugged the stumbling man around the desk, and shoved downwards when they stood on the other side again.

"SIT."

 ** _CLMK-CM!_**

-The guy fell on his backside and hissed at the pain.

"-A'ight'! You're the boss! I got it! No more questions!" He held his hands up down there too. "I'm not lookin' for a death warrant today, a'ight'?"

"Then you'll answer whatever questions I have, understand?" Sanford snapped. "If you don't give me a satisfactory response, I will shoot you in the head, got me?"

"I gotchya'."

"Who are you?"

"Hark."

"How many men do you have?"

"You killed 'em all."

"You're lying. How many are in the city? You have ten seconds."

"...There's six on patrol."

"Good. How many Gunners did you hire?"

"You REALLY killed all' them... That's why I was hiding."

"Where'd they put the mortar they were using?"

"It's in the storage room down from where you came, armor-man."

"Why did the Institute hire you?"

"...Look, buddy, if I talk, they have a designated kill order on my head, it's a lose-lose for me."

"You'll have better chances if I let you go, won't you? You have five seconds."

"Come on, man, you don't know what these people do for a livin'."

"I can handle it. Three seconds."

"You have the casks," Hark roared- nodding for the hall. "You have all the info' on my computer on the desk! Lemme' go, armor-man!"

"Two fuckin' seconds and I break your skull open with Laser beams." Sanford pressed the barrel to Hark's forehead- and his face drained of color.

"-GOD DAMN IT!" Hark screamed. "WE'RE SYNTH PLANTERS! GOD DAMN IT! WE'RE SYNTH PLANTERS! GET THAT FUCKIN' THING OUTTA' MY FACE! P-PLEASE!"

"What's a 'Synth Planter'?" Sanford leaned back, but kept the gun leveled. "Answer me."

"-T-They give us a target, and a location," Hark stuttered. "We sneak in, kill the target, a-and use this... this scanner thing to take a blood sample and-and a facial scan... a-and then we input the data on one of the casks, and the synth inside- he-he- or she- walks out and l-looks like the target..."

"...Jesus Christ. You sick little shit- let me understand, you're taking money, to prolong this SHIT, that those people in the Institute are doing to the Commonwealth? Is that right?"

"-I NEED TO EAT, ARMOR-MAN!"

"Not anymore."

 ** _PMPMP-CLK!_**

Hark slammed against the front of the desk with blood coursing from a cauterized gash in the center of his forehead.

Sanford leant back and rolled his jaw at the computer, and then turned around and glared at Hancock.

"Fuckin' people have been spreading this problem." Sanford growled."Good riddance'."

"Well that's just great! ANOTHER problem solved by the badass duo of anti-Communism! HOO-RAH!"

 ** _BMM-BMM_**

"- _HEY! Did you people shoot him? Thanks! I was gonna' do it, but they caught me- did, um... did Brody send you? Hello?_ "

Sanford and Hancock slowly turned to look at the wall to the left- and there, they noticed a small storage slot- like a removable plate that these tunnels usually had for equipment lockers.

Man and robot looked at each other.

 ** _BM BM_**

-The hatch rumbled again.

" _-Please don't just leave me here! I can't exactly starve to death! Come on! Heeellp', please?_ "

"...Who are you?" Sanford asked lowly.

" _Name's Robert, my friend! And I'm bound! And I could REALLY use your assistance!_ "

"...What do you think?" He asked Hancock.

"I say we spray it with napalm!" Hancock armed his flamethrower. "EAT FIRE! CLOSET-DWELLING BOOGEYMAN!"

" _Is that a Gutsy, model?_ "

"NO-! No, don't... don't do that," Sanford interjected- looking back at the hatch. "Hold on I'm getting you out."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	45. Chapter 44

**CHAPTER 44**

 **Door Opens, Mess Comes Out.**

* * *

Sanford wasn't wholly unaware of what was happening in the Commonwealth when it came to the mysterious organization calling themselves the 'Institute' -and he also wasn't entirely oblivious to what was going on with the debate of Synthetic people.

From what Sanford knew, Synthetic people had been a pre-War IDEA, not an actual implementation of technology and thus reality- and the only people that had discovered and replicated the robotics and industrial equipment necessary to build them was the Institute.

Modelling synths after people had been a thing for years- probably half the time Sanford had been exploring the wastes- there were horror stories of synthetic copies that had infiltrated towns and settlements across Boston and even beyond- all to report back to the Institute and their insane quest for pre-War technology.

No one really knew, including Sanford- what exactly the Institute was hoping to find throughout their myriad of operations they sponsored and ran to acquire massed amounts of military and industrial grade robotics and machinery- some thought they were building a super weapon.

A few times, and, this was very VERY rarely- Sanford and Hancock had come across signs, and even full blown interactions, that proved the Institute was very real and very active in Boston. They had gotten into shootouts with men made of metals and wires- Sanford first thought, years ago, that they were modified Assaulttron types, or some kind of home-manufactured model that hadn't existed before the war.

But over time as the stories of synths became more and more clear to him- Sanford was finely shocked over the course of several weeks of revelation, that the things he had shot full of holes were elements of the very 'Boogey-Man' everyone in the Commonwealth was afraid of.

There were an uncountable number of bandits and Raiders all over the place who wanted Sanford dead- the Gunners wanted Sanford dead, and if the Super Mutants had the capacity to remember ANYTHING past the last shit they had taken- they would all want Sanford dead too.

But Sanford never knew if the Institute had ever been aiming for him.

He'd caused disruptions with synths they had operating around, but, outside of that, Mr. Tobs had never touched upon breaking the Institute.

Hell, he'd never focused on screwing up the fabled Enclave- and they had showed up trying to put a bullet in his head anyway, so, maybe these synth makers weren't so far off.

Whatever the case may or may not have been, Sanford wasn't so eager to let his guard down, about this mysterious man calling himself- 'Robert Cannary' -which for some reason, sounded... Familiar to him, but, he couldn't place it.

He knew he'd heard the name before- and it didn't have a good tone coming from the person he'd heard it from- so Sanford's immediate profiling told him that this character was a trouble maker, and the problem was, he was thoroughly exhausted on patience today... Hark's splattered brains all over the desk in the back of the room was testament to that.

 ** _Bnk-CNNRRK-!_** -Sanford wrung the tips of his armored fingers as deep as they would go in the storage hatch's top hinge division- the hatch, rusty, and having been slammed shut- creaked terribly from the force.

" _...Mighty bad headache after that one._ " -Robert commented, muffled, from behind it.

"HMMMPH-!" Sanford heaved with effort. "-JESUS-! HE'S-ALMOST-ASANNOYING-AS-YOU!"

"Nobody asked for your opinion on the matter!" Hancock snapped back. "Open the door and let's rescue the closet-man!"

"-HHAGH-! RAGH-!" **_CRKK! bm-bmbmb-bmmm...bm..._** -The entire chunk of steel ripped right off the hinges, and catapulted right past Hancock, rattled on the grated floor, bounced once, and settled a flat disturbance against the common texture of the ground.

Sanford arched his back and huffed from the stretch- he peered over inside the rectangle-like opening he had torn into the wall- squinted, and gave his night vision filters a second to cooperate.

Inside the shadowy little storage locker- a man, average height, was tied to a small, foldable, metal chair with several links of basic run-of-the-mill rope- a tether over his wrists behind the head of the seat, over his ankles, and over his arms and torso.

-However, the extreme tie-up wasn't what got Sanford's jaw to drop- it was the fact that the face smiling at him, was that of one of those old synthetic soldiers that he had just taken a trip down memory lane to recollect for.

Glowing blue eyes of electronic origin, a face mishmashed with curling plates of synthetic metal, steel, and exposed circuits- he was dressed in an overcoat, brownish-black in color, it was matted and beat up, kind of like his face and overall hide.

The creature grinned with metal teeth that were missing in portions.

This... Robert, thing... Then spoke.

"Hiya'."

"... What. The. Fuck?" Sanford said after a quick pause. "You a synth?"

"-pppfffFFTTT- HAHAHAHA! HA!" Robert burst out into laughter- his metal teeth now exposed from his wide-open mouth, his electronic eyes actually flashed brighter. "-HA-HA! Wow, my friend, you know how many people have asked that same question? It's crazy!"

"...What are you?"

"I'm human! They're all bionics, medical and augmentation class! Trust me."

"...You have too many to be human."

"Technically. I have some unknown freak to thank for them. I'll explain to you if you want- but you know, can you do me a solid? And untie me? Really, I'm an alright guy."

"What was his name?" Sanford tested, nodding for the corpse in the back of the room.

Cannary leant forwards as best he could in the bounds- peering past Sanford's hip into the rear of the chamber- he noticed Hancock floating there and gave a quick wink and a little- 'How are ya'?' -before squinting at the dead body of Hark against the front of his own desk.

"You shot Hark!" Robert announced with a grin. "Bastard had it coming I suppose. You find the synth casks?"

"Maybe we did." Sanford alluded.

"C'mon, brother, I'm with the Minutemen," Robert smiled with his synthetic face. It was creepy looking. "Agent Robert Cannary, full time investigator and reporter, part time lazy mope in Diamond."

"You live in Diamond?"

"That I do, friend."

"Prove it."

"Mayor Jompson never takes off that stupid suit, and he always greets people at the gates with a healthy- 'Welcome to Diamond City!' -announcement."

"That the best you got?"

"...A digger are we? I like diggers. I dig for the truth a lot, myself-"

"Prove it." Sanford interjected coldly.

"...Uhm... Right," Robert's smile died away.

"HOLY WITCH-TITS! You're ugly as all unholy FUCK!" Hancock cried out all of a sudden- just noticing the bionics literally making half of Robert's very head, and his body beneath the coat. "That's Commie-killin' ugly! WHOA!"

"...Heh, THANKS." Robert grinned a full set of metallic teeth. "Thank you, fellow metal one, THANK YOU. Now, uh- proof? You said? Mr...?"

"No name until I see proof."

"...Alright, alright... Check the top drawer on our late friend's desk over there," Robert nodded to the side of the closet for Hark's corpse outside. "You'll find my militia service badge, my personal investigative badge, AND, you'll even find my security pass for the guards at Diamond."

Sanford was already behind the desk by the end of that sentence- he gave Hancock a quick- 'Watch him' -and then gripped one of the little drawers before slacking it open.

There was some paper-based trash piled on top of a neat little stack of flat, metal items- Sanford crumpled it all in a wad of paper and tossed it on the floor nearby where it pattered away softly. There indeed was a silver patch of steel- and on it was the insignia of the militia's own 1st Company- a pair of eagles each gripping a colonial era-musket with the American flag on a banner between them.

Sanford examined the badge, pinching it between two fingers, and raised it to his helm's lenses- twisting it left and right- he saw, etched on the back-

 _Robert. D. Cannary. Specialist Branch._

-And nodded with some security in this evidence.

There was a plastic chip that was broken off some kind of keychain- it had Robert's name printed in some kind of laser-burned pattern on the back- and it had a picture of Fenway's base diamond on its front- so that was the security pass.

And then the final item- was a golden, old, rusty, green-tinted, pre-War badge of some kind.

Sanford held the other two finds in his other gauntlet, picked up the badge- and looked at it closer.

It was an old Park Ranger's badge- and the badge number and info showed a carving of the state of Pennsylvania, and it read- DCNR -on the top. However, written in black over this, haphazardly and roughly, was- _Robert Cannary, Detective, Journalist._

-Sanford creased the corner of his mouth line and 'Hmphed' to it.

"Park Ranger of Pennsylvania, huh?"

"Well you're not supposed to read the writing CARVED in it!" Robert whined from inside the storage closet. "Is that enough PROOF for you? Heavens! I thought I was the investigator that interrogated people!"

"What were you doing here, Rob'?"

"...Brody, you know him?"

"He told me about you."

"Yeah, him. He and his friends in his little Company, got a tip, that a planter was here, and, low and behold, there was, and they caught me."

"What were you gonna' do if you DIDN'T get caught?"

"I took notes, marked the location on my map, all of which Hark burned," Robert sighed. "I was to return to the militia camp down south, show them everything, and let them handle the shooting."

"How many of these 'Planters' have you guys busted before?"

"We destroyed one's inventory a few months ago," Robert rolled his eyes. "Another one got away, and then, you shot him in the face just now."

Sanford bundled the badges in his grip, he looked at them in his grip for a second- rounded the desk and was standing before the storage closet again. Inside, Robert looked up at him with a bored expression, disinterested.

"...You get 'Caught' a lot?" Sanford grinned.

"Yep." The bionic man smiled expectedly. "Now, uh, that's it's pretty obvious I really don't have a bone to pick with you, can you PLEASE untie me, friend?"

"I'll think about it. How many synths did this Hark fellow have?"

"Ugh- I don't know specifics. He's been doing it for almost a year, he's got to have a bunch."

"What were you and the Minutemen going to do with them?"

"Keep one sample, destroy all the others."

"Hmm. You think Brody will come back for you? We bailed him and his boys out of a firefight, and they ran off without a word."

"Did he have civvies' with him?"

"Yeah."

"That's why. Good old Brody. Left me in a sticky situation myself one time when he went off to help a town near-"

-"Usiner? Have you seen San-?"

All talking in the room just ceased when the Deathclaw showed.

She ducked through the doorframe, stepped over the blasted remains of the Protectron, stood there in all her scaly, tall, imposing glory- her yellow eyes narrowed at Sanford as he met her gaze, and then they widened when she leant over and saw the hog-tied half-bionic man on the chair inside this little storage cell.

Awkwardly, she blinked as Robert literally turned a shade paler than the white-ish plates of synthetic metal that had been welded and built into the reconstructions of his skull.

"D-Dear G-God-!" He stuttered- the chair clattered about. "DEATHCLAW! Oh heaven- DEATH-CLAW! Are you both stupid?! IT'S RIGHT BEHIND YOU! I KNEW IT! IT'D BE SOMEONE RESCUING ME THAT KILLED ME ONE DAY-!"

"You're right, half-metal guy!" Hancock screeched- raising all three of his arms. "IT'S A DEATHCLAW! IT'S GONNA' EAT YOUR FACE! RUN! RUUUUNNNN-!"

"AAAAHHH-! AAAH-! OH MY- OH MY GOD- UNTIE ME! AAAHHH!" **_clmclmCLK-CLKCNCK-BMM-bmm_** "-aaAAAHHHH! OH GOD!"

-Robert had thrashed so hard in his chair, that he had toppled over- and Sanford actually started chuckling as he watched the poor bionic man roll around like a trapped worm in his tethers on the floor.

"You're an animal, Han'." He chuckled.

"THAT'S RIGHT, PORCELAIN MAN! DANCE! DANCE FOR THE HAN'! AH-HA! HA-HA!" Hancock cackled. "-Nah, don't sweat it, no need to change your closet panties-"

The robot waved his buzzsaw dismissively- the equivalent of a person brushing it off with their hand- he gestured to the shocked, and silent Deathclaw with a point of said weapon.

"-She's trained! Completely harmless! Isn't that right, Chamellow-Yellow?"

...The Deathclaw's right eye jerked thinner for a moment, in this tiny twitch- before anyone knew what was happening, Hancock was hurtling through the air-

 ** _BMMMK!_**

 ** _CLCKclmclcmclmclcm..._**

-Where he then planted against the wall in the south of the chamber, and collapsed in a metallic heap on the grate floor with the trademark sound of a sack of empty cans.

The robot lie down there, and the Deathclaw quivered with rage- her tail sweeping the air left and right behind her.

"Stupide' petit' batard'." She spat. "Je ne' peux pas traiter'avec vous deux!"

"That's right! LOVE ME!" Hancock laughed from the floor over there.

"...UGH!" She pouted- it was pretty funny- how GIRLY she looked, crossing her lumbering arms over her gut- she looked back at Sanford. "...-You know, connard', there's a collection of coffins hanging from the ceiling back in that chamber, right?"

"We were just discussing that, tootse'." Sanford nodded for Robert. "Rob', Ms. Angrypants- Ms. Angrypants, Rob'."

"...I-Intellectual type, h-huh?" Robert struggled to regain composure from down on the floor- his eyes craning heavily to look up from the side as the flank of his face was pressed against the steel of the ground- the chair legs stuck up behind him, comically.

"Yes, synthetic." She squinted.

"Not synthetic- uh- bionics, lots of them, replaced half my body."

"I'm not sure I care. What are the circumstances here, connard'?"

Sanford was tempted to ask for her to stop calling him that... BUT, seeing as he un-rightfully snapped at her earlier over this kind of thing, he decided to just deal with it.

"He's the Minuteman agent we were told of. He got caught." Sanford shrugged.

"I assume that, is Hark?" She nodded to the body behind him.

"Uh-huh."

"You didn't question him?"

"I did. He was acting as a 'Synth Planter'- for the Institute. He was helping them kill people and replace them with synthetic duplicates. He deserved what he got."

"No debate on that." She said. "What do we do with him?"

Sanford looked back at Robert.

"...I guess, we... Untie him."

"Thank goodness," Cannary sighed, shifting his face so that the more bionic side was flat against the metal. "It smells like motor oil down here."

Sanford unclamped the cutlass blade he had by his hip- he didn't power it on -he knelt inside the storage cell- struggling with the bulk of the suit for a bit- quickly worked the edge of the blade in small a cutting motion across the ties on Robert's wrists.

The rope slid off- and the wannabe' journalist sighed in relief as his palms pressed against the floor on either side of him.

"Good lord, thank the Maker- I'll tell you, if I didn't have all the synthetic muscles I would've gotten a horrible-" **_ssSNP! -Bmbmbm-_** The rope keeping his torso locked to the back of the chair snapped off a little suddenly- Robert was cut off mid-speech with his chin getting butted right into the metal. "-OW-I meant to say... a CRAMP. -Augh, hell..."

"Let's go, man." Sanford cut the link over his ankles, and stepped back- watching as the bionic man slumped over the floor from the chair, crawled up onto his knees, and heaved a great breath of relief, sitting up. "You alright?"

"Never been better! Mr...?"

"Sanford."

"Mr. Sanford? What kind of a last name is THAT?"

"It's just Sanford."

"Sure thing." Robert stood up in a flash of motion- he had this big, overconfident smile on his robotic-like face- his eyes seemed brighter again, like when he had laughed earlier- he glanced at the Deathclaw, and the robot on the floor- opened his mouth to speak, paused, and finally asked- "This your usual, uh... Group'?"

"It was just the robot a few weeks ago." Sanford sighed. "Listen, that Hark guy? He said he had other men out in the city- what are they doing out there and when are they coming back?"

"-You know, it's a good thing the three of you got and killed HIM, when you did, because-" Robert stopped mid-speech, blinked, and frowned. "-Wait he already sent them out?"

"This was a planned thing? He said patrolling."

"OOooohhhh- SHIT." Robert leaned his head back- cursed at the ceiling. "That bastard already went and started it without me!"

"What are you talking about?" The Deathclaw asked.

"It's a Synth Plant!" The detective almost cried. "That was one of the things I had heard when they locked me in the wall! Hark was sending out a team, for a job, and the reason it's REALLY bad, is because that job is in Diamond!"

"Diamond City?" Sanford interjected. "How so?"

"They were going to kill someone," Robert held his hands up. "Replace them, with a Gen 2' Synth, because- this isn't good, friends!"

"Who were they going to replace?"

"I only found out because I overheard them talking about it! I don't know the target!"

"We should get over there and warn them.

"PFFT! Fat-chance, brother! Diamond security turns away- 'Whackjobs' -like yourself who speak of such nonsense on the spot!"

"Well they know me, I've helped them a lot, maybe they'll listen to me."

"What do you mean they KNOW you?" Robert squinted. "What makes you think they'll listen to YOU? They don't listen to me or anyone else."

"They know me, I was the guy who shot the Hawkers gang full of holes when they attacked the gate, you weren't there for that?"

"I was inside." Robert nodded. "Years ago, that one... You turned an entire firefight? You're saying?"

"-SAN' OF THE FORD', ROYALLY SKEWERED THEIR ANUSES!" Hancock called from the back of the chamber, still sprawled on the ground. "IT WAS AMAZING! U.S.A! U.S.A!"

"-We need to get there," Sanford clamped the sword to his hip. "Hark said there was a team of six, how many do you think there were?"

"How many guys did you kill?"

"...A lot? I don't know..."

"Then it's probably five or six, yeah."

"You live in Diamond, right? How do you think they'll get in?"

"They're most likely targeting someone who frequents outside the walls..." Robert was thinking. "...Oh lord- I-I think I know who."

"Who is it?"

"We need to go-"

"No-no, don't gimme' that crap," Sanford stepped forwards. "Name them, and name their position in the city, c'mon, man."

"-Jess, her name's Jess- she's a would-be' journalist, always running around outside the walls- I-I couldn't THINK of a better target!"

"What about the guards?"

"They always travel in squads, Hark's people are cowards, they'd sooner hide!"

"Are you confident in this assumption?" The Deathclaw asked. "I don't think this warrants anything good for confusion or wrong choices."

"It HAS to be her!" Robert nodded. "It just has to be... Hold on, lemme' get my gun-"

"What gun?" Sanford interrupted.

"My magnum- scoped .44, thing's a beauty!" Robert chuckled nervously- walking, for the first time in days- he stumbled past Sanford, the coat he wore billowing behind him slightly.

 ** _csk-Chk_**

-He got behind Hark's desk and tore open a larger, bottom drawer- he came back with the handgun in his bionic right hand's grip- it was a polished, silvery .44 with a custom made scope- and the gunsmithing didn't look so half-assed, at that observation.

"Where'd you get that?" Sanford nodded as Robert used his finger to pop the cylinder, and lightly scroll it to check all the rounds still being present.

"Found parts for it, made the rest, my friend," Robert used his thumb to click the hammer down. "I'm armed and dangerous. We should hurry."

"We're just... LEAVING all of this here?" The Deathclaw asked.

Sanford and Robert looked at her, and then looked at each other.

"...I didn't think of that." The detective admitted sheepishly.

"...One of us should stay here," Sanford turned to his companions- he saw Hancock levitating off of his fallen self, and floating beside the Deathclaw, arms draped in seeming sadness to this news. "Han'?"

"...Oh, FINE. Dump me off as usual! PAH! You all just can't handle how much of a badass I am!" Hancock ranted, rolling his ocu-lenses. "I can see it now! Sanford's gonna' get shot in the dick! You wanna' know why? BECAUSE THE HAN' WASN'T PROTECTING HIS PANSY ASS!"

"Hancock, shut up." Sanford sighed. "We'll come back-"

-"I'll stay."

"-...Really now?"

-The Deathclaw just put it out there, and Sanford sounded like he didn't appreciate the idea- and while that wasn't debatable, her ability to care what he thought about anything right now was in the question heavily.

The reptile stood her ground, and angled her head at him when he held his arms aloft.

"Han' always gets guard duty,"

"-FUCKER!-"

"-So why can't you come with me and Rob'?"

"Because I do not WISH to." She stated dryly. "I'll be fine. Go be a hero."

Sanford stood in the chamber with this cold feeling of being placed on the spot- he had a blend of anger, anxiety of what he had started, and confusion on what his next course of action would be.

Robert worked with people enough to sense what was going on- and despite the whole thing being between a man in Power Armor, and a six-foot tall reptilian mutant- the detective looked between the pair, raised his hands, and pocketed his magnum.

"I'm going to look around the first floor, let me know, friends." He stepped round the desk, stood in the center of the room, and smiled sheepishly up at the Deathclaw.

She tore her gaze from her lock to Sanford's helmet lenses- glanced at the bionic man -and stepped aside slightly to leave the doorframe clear.

Robert nodded, smiled, gave a little- 'My thanks' -before slipping past the reptile's flank and into the tunnelway beyond.

"This is your choice?" Sanford finally asked.

"Mm."

"-Will you be here when we come back?"

"... I don't know."

"...Fine." Sanford stomped past her to follow Robert too- without another word. Hancock levitated beside his newfound ally for a bit, and flew past her on the other side without a comment.

The Deathclaw idled in the chamber for a few more minutes, listening to the hiss of steam from all the air vents- she kept her eyes on the desk ahead, and the slumped over body of Hark, the apparent dealer of synths across the Commonwealth.

She snorted- and shut her eyes.

She felt like crying again.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Before they made for the stairs that lead to the entrance wing- the three of them had checked inside the storage locker that Sanford and Hancock had found- with the Type-7 casks still hanging from their chain links above on the pipes, idly swaying in the draft as before.

Robert assured them that the synths inside wouldn't be activated unless Hark, or a representative of the Institute themselves- showed up to type in the right codes on the pads, AND managed to get them down without Hark's men.

Sanford took some convincing for an unusual matter as well, while they were in this chamber.

"I don't want to chance it, let's fry them." Sanford suggested. "Me and Han' have energy weapons, it'll pierce right through."

"NO-! No-nononono-" Robert stuttered. "The Minutemen, will have a FIT, if they find out you wrecked the live samples!"

"What more, is there to understand from these things, outside of the fact, that we just need to fucking SHOOT them all?" Sanford snapped. "Hostile Institute-loyal synths, that's what we're talking about here."

Robert was unmoved.

"Please hear me out, friend- the militia, NEED, those synths! AT LEAST, one of them intact! I promise, when we solve this issue by Diamond, I'll let you blast all of them full of holes after Brody takes one of the casks! I promise!"

...Sanford almost refused outright- but, he figured, stopping whatever Hark's men were doing by Fenway was more important, and they were wasting time. He accepted this strange prerequisite of the Minutemen and their agent.

It was unusual, and Sanford didn't like it, but what other option did he have? He could've just shot them all anyway, but, Robert probably would have a fit, and if they were getting into a fight, they needed to be top shape.

So Sanford left those casks under the Deathclaw's eye.

-And speaking of the militia's little agent...

...Robert was a pretty... UNUSUAL, fellow, for Sanford to consider.

He was pretty closed up about himself throughout the whole time the three of them traveled through the first floor of the museum, even though Sanford wasn't really asking anything- not really taking any time to sightsee or consider their surroundings.

Robert apparently had been held prisoner inside the museum for several days, and Sanford had already combed most of the first and second floors scouring for Gunner survivors- both didn't query the other on it, figuring they had each seen enough of the place.

Though the detective, or, at least, he CALLED himself a detective- was very adamant about nods to Sanford and his team's singular effort of wiping out the contingent of Gunner soldiers that had been present throughout the grounds.

"We got in a really bad firefight with the others a few miles away from here." Sanford said when Robert queried it. "They had a Sentrybot."

"God damn," Robert shook his head. "You people are nuts."

"Not even the half of it, electro-lux!" Hancock stated jubilantly. "We're the team of unbeatable ASS-KICKING!"

"Right...?"

Sanford found his dark mood lifted slightly to watching Cannary's mortified lack of understand to the Mr. Gutsy- he chuckled and nodded at Hancock to lay off the shouting a tad.

"So, ROB'," He felt weird addressing him with the nickname. "Where did you come across a badge from Pennsylvania? A ranger badge at that."

"From Pennsylvania, of course." Robert spoke over his shoulder whilst they moved for the shattered, glass doors of the entry wing of the museum. His blue eyes were highlighted in the dark of the place- it was creepy, having the left one beam over the shadows of his coat's top flank.

"Pennsylvania's a crater."

"Not the northern borders."

"How'd you get to the northern borders without going THROUGH the state?"

"Easy, the bionics saved me."

"Why were you going through Pennsylvania anyway?"

"It wasn't my choice," He shrugged. "I had a job, BIG job,"

-Robert continued to speak as he stepped through one of the panes that USED to hold one of the glass doors of the front entry- Hancock flew out after him, and Sanford paused in the shadows of the sunlit lobby to turn around and look back.

The expansive wing sat before him- as if sad to see him go, despite the fact he had littered the interior of the museum with dead people. He kept thinking about the Deathclaw.

"-Hey, San'?" Rob called from outside. "Where are you, brother?"

"Comin'." Sanford half-called.

 _I hope she doesn't leave._

-Well if he wanted that, why didn't he apologize to her? Even if he thought she was wrong, even if she said some nasty things too... It was irrelevant, the apology just would've patched it up, because they were supposed to be on the same side.

The last few weeks had earned this fascination of her from him- so, even though, emotionally, she confused him, frightened him even- it was a drug of sorts that both made him rise and fall within the mental roller coaster of his mind.

He didn't want to leave her, just like he DID want to apologize to her.

But he stepped out after Robert Cannary and Hancock through the frame anyway- against his judgement, and he reasoned it was for urgency to save someone he didn't even know living in Diamond City.

Either way, he felt horrible, he felt tired.

Every time he killed someone, it just... It didn't feel right, even if they were horrible murderers... It was like a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle you got in a hobby store, but with no image on it, completed- and every time he enacted the power of death, another piece floated away into the abyss.

-Glass flicked off the aluminum when the armor brushed some of the trailing edges of the shattered pane- Sanford stood in the sunlight, and he watched Hancock as the robot prodded his shoulder pauldron with his buzzsaw again- **_CLK_** -and Robert was going down the first flight of steps down to the entrance grounds ahead.

"Are you okay, San'?" The detective called back- boots meeting pavement of the little divider isle between the two flights- the steps of the next flight were then clacking beneath his heels.

"Don't worry about it, sir!" Hancock reassured, floating down with Sanford at his side as he descended the thin little concrete flight. "I'm sure Croco-Taco' won't be goin' anywhere!"

"Maybe." Sanford reached over for a railing subsconciously- remembered it had long rusted away -and put his arm back down by his hip.

The expansive little plaza and garden section around the front of the museum looked like one of those haunted forests you saw in the fantasy storybooks depicting witches and evil trolls. Everything was brown and black, draping, dead. The grass was tan, the pavement of all the walkways, cracked.

Glancing over his shoulder- the huge building of the museum's front looked quite sad underneath the gloom of soot and damage masking its brick hide everywhere- there were portions of the ceiling and walls missing all over the place, all the windows were shattered, it looked terrible.

Just like the rest of the city.

Disappointing, what man had done to himself.

-Sanford hoped they could see what else was still in there, they hadn't even seen most of it.

"You seemed awfully comfy walking around my friend back there," Sanford said when he caught up to Robert at the foot of the last flight. "Deal with Deathclaws before?"

"I've been chased by them a few times." Robert nodded. "That case I took, to go through Pennsylvania? I got jumped by a mother and her babies in the blasted woods up there- not a nice day for me."

"And that didn't reinforce your fear of them?"

"Oh it did, but I met an intellectual myself one time, a really big fellow, he only knew one word, and that word was- 'Dunk' -it was all he said, too."

"What do you mean an 'Intellectual'?"

"Intellectual Deathclaw, friend. They're pretty common out west, I've heard."

"...I guess Boston just isn't a good place for them..." Sanford blinked in surprise. "So, you... Traveled, with a Deathclaw too?"

"Indeed. Like I said, really big guy, he spoke one word of English, and that was the word- 'Dunk' -Dunk, Dunk, DunkDunk, Dunk and then DUNK... I don't know where he picked it up, where he heard it, but it was all he ever said."

"Alright, tell me about him." They started off to the right- and the Charles River Dam Bridge extended sharply ahead, the small whisper of the flowing water was evident as it had been upon the earlier trio's approach.

"I saved him, by complete mistake," Robert started. "-Found him getting pummeled by a few Shellsnappers- nasty things, used to be Canadian Snapping Turtles- I killed them, he walked up to me, and said- 'Dunk, DunkDunk.' -I'll never forget it. I tightened up, looked like a billboard, really- and I just tried to walk away from him.

Guess what, though? He followed me! And as he followed me, every now and again, he'd try and get my attention by saying- 'Dunk', and I'd look at him, and forget he said it. I didn't really know how to comprehend it, right? Had you ever heard of a speaking Deathclaw before, uhm... She have a name?"

"...No, she's thinking about 'Nyx', though."

"And was that an accent I detected from her?"

"She speaks French."

"That's incredible!"

"I know."

"How long has she been traveling with the two of you?"

"-She fell from the sky and face-planted right in front of us!" Hancock proclaimed. "It was a God-send that wasn't directly aimed at killing me! HA!"

"...Yeah, what Han' said." Sanford rolled his eyes. "The En- uhm... We found her, she stuck with us."

"Aye, but sir! What about the-"

"SSH. That's the whole story." Sanford glared at his robot, who got the message, and dropped it.

"...Huh," Cannary raised a brow to the antics. "She a good fighter?"

"She's one of the best." Sanford replied.

"I've traveled the continent, brother, and let me just say now, that I've seen some weird shit," He held a finger aloft. "I've traveled with many people- Intellectual Deathclaws are just one of many."

"You've traveled with more than one?"

"I was sad to see Dunk go. He followed me all the way to the shore of Lake Michigan- two months -and then he found that lake, almost cleaned of some of the radiation and he just wanted to stay there, and I was saying- 'No, Dunk, stay with me!' -and he said- 'Dunk-Dunk.' -and then he stayed there and I left without him. Never saw him again.

A few years later I helped a group out in killing a feral 'Claw, and not too long after that, I ran into another intellectual in some town in Michigan."

"You're making this shit up." Sanford grinned when they passed onto the blackened pavement of the bridge- and ahead, the deeper sections of Boston city expanded, a gigantic sea of stone and metal towers.

"No, really," Robert admonished, his coat whipping as he glanced with shoulders and all at Sanford. "He didn't have a name either- coincidence, huh? It's a thing with non-humans, even some Ghouls have the issue- names just hold a kind of identity that someone from outside our society just can't always understand. You picking up what I'm laying down?"

"I'm picking up," Sanford laughed at the old-timey' phrase. "What was the deal with this creature in Michigan?"

"He was a Deathclaw," Robert reiterated. "Living out in the middle of nowhere in an old garage. He could speak fluent English- really cool."

"What'd he have to say?"

"He was a very angry individual, I remember... Hated a lot of stuff, used the word- 'Hate' -specifically, a lot. I didn't blame him, everything around him, people, other 'Claws, the mutant wildlife, all were trying to kill him."

"How'd you meet him?"

"Stumbled onto his garage, and then he jumped out and I just started talking to him, and he said- 'I can't kill, those who accept me.' -and I stayed there for a few days, chatted it up with him. After awhile my little positive attitude got on his nerves and he politely asked me to leave, and so I left."

"Unbelievable! What are the ODDS, man?!" Hancock cried. "We found a fellow Lizard-Whisperer! WHAT THE BALLS?!"

Sanford struck up a kind of liking to this wannabe' detective. He didn't tell Hancock to shut up that time- in fact, he just laughed at the commentary.

Cannary looked up at Sanford's taller helmet and grinned with his silvery teeth.

"Your robot's a pisser."

"THAT'S RIGHT! THE HAN', PISSES ON ALL THOSE HE DEEMS UNFIT FOR LIVING!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	46. Chapter 45

**CHAPTER 45**

 **All in the name of Sport.**

* * *

Sanford hadn't been to Diamond City in a good while. It wasn't that the people there were bothersome to him, or him to them, and it wasn't even that the guards were complete jerkoffs and gave him guff every time he visited- they did that to everyone ELSE, but they liked Sanford -and it wasn't even the fact they didn't want Hancock coming inside that bothered him.

Being around all those people... It made Sanford feel... Weird. It was abnormal to him. Most of the citizens living in Diamond had at least some kind of semblance of who he was, which meant they wanted to talk to him, which meant they asked for things, or advice, and Sanford just didn't have the heart to deal with it some days.

Socializing had been something he was used too, quite good at actually before the bombs fell- but after all this time of wallowing around out in the middle of nowhere, Sanford had a strange cross of WANTING to talk to people, but feeling uncomfortable when he actually got an opportunity too.

So the whole time that they walked, Sanford felt this snake slithering through his mind- it was a limb of quiet dread, for how he would isolate himself purposefully, without wanting too. Of course this was evened out with the usual emotions he felt whenever he was about to enter a life-threatening situation.

He'd revise everything he knew, he thought about what kind of weapons the enemy might have, what tactical expertise they might have, all of the things HE had. Even against 'Small' things like a group of thugs- Sanford was cautious, because when it came to war, you never knew what was going to happen.

"Good news is, we're only a few minutes away, friends!" Robert breathed- he had been jogging through the rubble-strewn streets ahead of them for a bit in the travel- and Sanford was quite amused at his simplistic solution of trotting behind, because he still managed to keep up with that.

"You should hit the gym, Rob'." He joked. "I'm walking here."

"Been locked in a closet for days, San'! I'm just trying to get the calves working!"

"BAH! Shut up and stuff a protein bar in your metal face!" Hancock barked. "I wanna' go back to the freedom fortress and change my engine filter! It feels like I have a rusty fork shoved right up my second-stage pipe crease!"

"Well I always do tell you to pull the pole out of your ass." Sanford chuckled.

"I'LL BEAT YOUR FACE IN WITH THAT POLE, MONKEY-MAN!"

"Are your scans picking up anything?"

"Yes actually!"

"...Oh, really?" Sanford had been expecting a usual- 'Nope!' or 'No! Negatory!' -but Hancock apparently sounded serious. Huh. "What is it? I'm not-"

He glanced down at his internal HUD's lower corner.

"-Oh shit. I really gotta' remember to LOOK at this stuff."

"See that?! Your primate eyes have been outclassed! WHO'S OBSOLETE NOW, BITCH?!"

"Six heartbeats, just like the dead man said," Sanford ignored- he looked up at Robert, who had stopped to a hunched stand on top of a pile of wreckage belched out from the side of a building. "We're not far, get your head on, man."

"It's on, Mr. Sanford," Robert chuckled- he foot-worked down the debris with a quick descent- bricks and some slabs of stone crumbled after him as his boots clacked against the street. "I'll try to shoot at least one of them, though, you both look like you have it all covered."

"Don't sweat it, we got this." Sanford nodded, pulling the Laser rifle into his grip.

"We do this ALL the time, Glowing-Eye-Person!" Hancock laughed. "TIME TO KICK ASS! ONWARDS!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

When the basement tunnels got too boring she opted for taking a quick look around the first floor of the museum- only in the wing that was generally around what she was supposed to be watching.

All this time, the casks hanging from the ceiling above had remained undisturbed, unmoved, untampered with- thus her confidence in the lack of danger alotted her up the stone flight of steps, and back into the entrance foyer.

Once again, the Deathclaw stood in the expansive emptiness of the same wing- the triceratops skeleton was still there, all the wreckage was still there- and it was even quieter then it had been when she first entered it earlier.

Just like all the other buildings like these she had come across- the museums, the libraries, the like -she wandered around and looked through some of the exhibits.

In one of the showrooms, after she ducked through the shorter frame- she found a yellow-painted, and ruined chamber that had several display shelves all with cracked glass, and rusty iron frames- now absent of whatever had been stored in them.

She mulled down the rank and file of these things for a few moments, eyeing them with disinterest- then she came across a console-looking machine, obviously ruined and in horrible shape- two branching holding pegs of white metal held a gigantic tube of plexiglass between them.

There was a keyboard missing most of its keys on the right side of the machine, it had a small monitor that was spider-cracked and useless- a big blue button with a small, faded icon of a lightning bolt was present directly center the pad.

Hunching over the large machine's side- she examined the whole board and screen, looked at the plexiglass tube, and saw a exhibit sign that was behind the machine's other side. She squinted to read the faded and torn paper depicting whatever it said- it read-

 _-USION -POWER-EX-PL-_

-Most of the letters just weren't readable.

She looked back at the tube and saw inside, on either end, coppery connections that pointed across the length of the tube at each other- like something you'd see to link electricity.

She thought about it.

"Maybe it's- 'Fusion Power Example'-" She muttered to herself. She used the tip of her nail to press the blue button.

 ** _sscckkNNKK!_**

 ** _bbzzzzzzzz_**

-A chain of aqua-blue electricity flickered to life from one coil to the other- forming a pulsating, slowly writhing band of glowing light that formed a string down the tube all the way.

It hummed lowly, and something in the machine was clunking repeatedly, like a loose cog- she blinked in surprise to the exhibit's functionality, and leaned closer to look at the fusion power link that was being displayed.

The blue power highlighted her face a tint of aqua- she had to squint for her eyes to deal with the bright light. It was beautiful. Small, not really a big amazing thing, but it was certainly beautiful.

It was interesting, maybe that was more accurate.

 ** _bm-bm-bmbmkbmk_**

-Something large made the faintest of tumbling throes that echoed down from the wing behind her.

She stood upright, spun around, and gazed out the doorway into the chamber. For awhile she listened for any further sounds, and when none occurred, she vanished in a blur of motion from the machine, through the arch, and into the wing beyond.

She used her sense of smell- tasting the air a few times, skidding to a halt in the center of the great expansive wing ahead- she glanced at the triceratops skeleton, closed her eyes, flicked her tongue.

...Something was still alive in here, with her, and it was... THAT way.

-So off she darted, back towards the pair of gray doors that lead to the eastern seating area she and Sanford had breached earlier-

 ** _WMK!_**

-The doors were kicked aside on either flank- the Deathclaw stood in the shaded lobby, and snapped her gaze about.

...She saw the two dead bodies behind the seating area, that wasn't new...

...No other... THINGS, so what had made that noise-?

- _I don't recall a body at the foot of the stairs._

Indeed, there was a forearm jutting out from behind the last step of the stairwell right next to her- and as she stepped closer, and around the railing bend- she saw that there was a human man, one of the black-leather dressed goons- who was laid out face-first on the floor there.

She looked up the stairs, and saw scuffs on the steps all the way down to where the new body was sitting- she saw a fleck of blood on the edge of one.

He must have tumbled down the steps. But what threw him?

"...UUuuughhh..."

She reclined her head and looked back down at the body.

Oh... Apparently HE had thrown himself.

She had a good mind to just stick a few nails in him and end it right there- after all, he and his buddies had tried to kill them earlier- but the Deathclaw persisted in watching the groaning man struggle to flip onto his back.

Leaning against the bottom step, his eyes snapped open- one of them swelled shut and bloody around the edges- the Deathclaw examined him a bit closer, and saw that ugly strip of hair above his lip, that 'Mustache' -Sanford had called it.

It was the man her ally had whacked in the head with his gun after the first fight.

"...-Aw crap-" He stuttered on the floor- a hand was already up. "-Don't kill me-"

She raised a brow to the thug pitifully.

For a fleeting second she made an effort to remember the stupid little name he had declared for himself when Sanford had him at gunpoint- purposefully, because, she didn't exactly care- she dropped the question.

Opening her fingers, she relaxed the muscles that acted as fibers within her very digits- her nails unsheathed quickly, growing to double their original perceivable length.

"I'm going to GUT you, rongeur'." -So she was being a little unnecessarily cruel, but she was pissed today, and this was the same person who had shot at her- mercy wasn't really an appetizing thing.

"-P-Please don't- don't do that-" The man shuddered, his only good eye getting all big and puffy- his face drained of color, and the matting, oily filth over his skin glistened as he turned his head to the side slightly- angling from her claws -the sunlight streaming through the windows caught there.

"Why shouldn't I? You tried to kill us. You tried to kill ME."

"-W-What the hell else was I supposed to do?!" The man shouted. "All I see i-is some- guy and his monsta' coming in here and fucking shit up- what ELSE was I supposed to do?! Huh?!"

...She didn't really have a response for that.

"-I ain't ever heard of a- a talkin' 'Claw before-" He muttered. "What are you?"

"..."

"...W-Where'd that guy go? Y-Your f-friend?"

"..."

"...Aw, God, uhm- d-did you find Hark? W-What'd you do with him?"

"My 'Friend' shot him." She stated venomously, grinning when the thug flinched at speech leaving her chops.

A great look of horror dawned on the ugly, dirty man's features- he clenched his teeth, and sputtered over his own words, belting out-

"T-Those college people! T-The metal people! They had a kill order on him! T-THEY'LL KILL ME TOO-"

"Define, 'Kill Order'." She growled.

"A-Automated chip in- head-head-!" He waved a hand by his temple. "D-Detects heartbeat-! I-If H-Hark's dead- the metal people sent a kill team here! T-They track the chip!"

"...What kind of a kill team, rongeur'?"

"B-Badass shit- t-they told us they'd send spec' ops' level people- that they'd- they'd- NEUTRALIZE, everyone on site! T-They'll kill me!"

"...I don't believe you."

"Y-You'll believe me when synth pods come through the CEILING!" He ranted. "-T-The desk- Hark's desk-! H-HE has a communication pad f-for the Institute- I-I can tell them it's a false alarm-!"

"Do you think I'm stupide'?" She smiled toothily. "Just for that, you deserve death."

"O-Oh yeah-? W-Well- WELL FUCK YOU!"

 ** _CLLAPP!_**

-Feng did the most ludicrous thing he had done in his entire life in the Commonwealth- and he had already sensed the terrible outcome as his fingers finished their tug from his waist, opened, and hurled his only means of escape into the air.

That talk was all the distraction he needed.

The homemade flashbang was tossed high enough, that it orbited over the Deathclaw's head for a moment- she watched it raise, and she started to see it descend back to the floor- the thug scurried by her feet, she reached down to finish him, and then the explosive went off.

It was deafening- and not only that, but her vision was suddenly overcome with nothing but a wavering void of pinkish-green as the bright flash literally burned itself in her retinas.

Feng hadn't emerged unscathed either- he was rolling across the floor, screaming like a little girl- because even though he had looked away from the flash, he was still deafened, made dizzy.

Nothing but white noise for the highwayman as he stumbled around the bend of the stairs- and waddled in a pathetic sprint across the floor of the seating area lobby- everything on him hurt- his head, his arms and legs, his eyes, his ears- a world of pain and silence.

He heard his own muffles, his cries, faintly- he was so disoriented that he just kept his mouth open, spitting wildly- trying to disgorge something from his throat that wasn't there.

He flew between the two gray doors that lead to the entrance wing- and only by the time he was barreling down the concrete steps to the basement tunnels of his late bosses' hideaway- was the Deathclaw recovering a whole section away.

She stood in place, had fallen to a knee- she quivered, shutting her eyes, clapping her palms over her ear holes- she had a strong sense of panic as both her hearing, her sight, were stolen from her.

The white noise hissing in her hearing eventually caused her to start quaking more heavily with hair-raising rage- she slowly opened one eye- tried to see the floor and her feet below through the wavering burn lights in her vision.

She bent lower, her tail curling over the back of her calves- she clenched her teeth.

 _I want Sanford-_ it was like if she had mentally cried out for her mother- she felt so gross after that thought branched through her mind, and that was because she was still so angry with him for what he had said.

It took several minutes, she didn't know how long, she was too anxiety gripped to process time effectively- but her vision was coming back, a blackened shadow, faded, really blurry- her hearing was half-returning- everything sounded like she had a funnel pressed to her eardrums.

 ** _BM-bmbmbmbm..._** -Her echoing footsteps repeated several times after they had sounded- she stumbled forwards, and righted herself with a palm-press off of the floor.

Holding her arms out for balance- the Deathclaw shook her head- and when nothing happened she shook it again- found it was making the dizziness worse, and stopped.

That damn little thug- he had played her, and he had played her good- she spoke of no mercy when she fully understood she didn't have the guts to just butcher him on the ground like that.

Today had started out so... WELL.

What the heck had happened? Why was all this going wrong?

...T'was life, she supposed.

Nothing else to be done about it.

"-JE TE' TUERA'!" She bellowed- her own voice hurting her hearing.

She was so ANGRY, by this point- having had the disagreement with Sanford, having spent her afternoon killing unsavory people, after voluntarily isolating herself from her new group, after this little shit with the hair on his lip freaking flashbanged her.

She saw burnt strips of the homemade explosive still on the ground in places- it made her even MORE angry.

The Deathclaw clenched her bore teeth so hard, that saliva was trailing from her chops- she snarled, yellow eyes wide, animalistic- she darted to face the side of the stairwell- she tested the air with her tongue, caught a scent.

 ** _BBNK!_**

-She glanced the metal railing of the bottom steps so hard, that it indented, and curled outwards- like it had been hit by a car.

She sprinted on all fours, flew through the gray doors- THIS time, she was doing what she and Sanford hadn't done.

This hairy-lipped thug was a dead man hobbling.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

All it took was a bend in the street up ahead- and then, Sanford's mind was taking yet ANOTHER trip, down memory lane.

Fenway Park looked awfully terrible in shape and appearance- from street level, it looked like nothing more than an enwrapping triangle of tall walls with ruined window ports, stacks of construction materials plugging areas where the brickwork had caved- a gigantic scrap fortress.

Wrought iron made open-topped watchtowers that dotted the top of the stadium walls- there were reinforced scrap barriers and barricades plugging all of the doors and gateways that lead to any section of Fenway's interior.

Sanford knew, that the only place that had an opening gate, was the front entrance to the stadium- and he doubted these goons under Hark's, and by extension, the Institute's, employ, were dumb enough to just make a charge for the squad of heavily armed guards there.

Standing in a three-way intersection- Sanford, Robert, and Hancock all had their eyes, and one trio of ocu-lenses- raised in brief wonder to the height of Diamond City's ultimate defense measure, that had literally saved the city hundreds of times.

While Sanford and Hancock looked pretty much passive to it all after a few minutes, Robert seemed awfully... Conflicted, it could be observed as. His synthetic face looked like it was just scrunching up in thought- the varying plates actually made it very easy for him to show emotion through expression- it was both creepy and amazing at the same time.

"Hey, Tin-Man!" Hancock asked as they took a sharp right at Rob's gesture. "What's the deal with this pencil pusher, that we're here to prevent from getting blasted in the face?"

"Her name's Jess'," Rob spoke between footfalls- he had his .44 by his hip, and his eyes were darting around fast enough that Sanford could here their internal support motors going- **_whhm-whm-whm -whmm_** \- "She's a young woman who doesn't have much, and apparently saw a lot in me."

"What do mean SAW?" Sanford switched the battery coils on his gun to be safe.

"You know what I am, brother," Robert shook his head- they reached the flank of a small business structure- two story- they peered out around the brick flank, Hancock exposing himself a bit too much, and snapping out an anti-Communist curse when Sanford shoved him back behind the wall with his arm. "Jess' and everyone at Diamond knows what I am, what I do."

"This is your little- 'Detective' thing, here?" Sanford asked, keeping his gun brandished from the hip around the corner.

"I'm a private investigator, SLASH, detective, yes," Robert answered honestly, grinning. "Brings me the financial stability of caps, and the goodness of heart knowing I've helped some poor souls, just like today."

"So this Jess'? Minus the life story?"

"Heh," The bionic man angled his head. "Jess' was a good company asset of mine, a fellow employee, second in command- one day it went sour, I haven't talked to her in almost three years."

"HOLY CRAP! How ironic is that?!" Hancock laughed. "Pissed off the girl only to save her ass a few years later! Straight outta' one of those stomach-emptying soap operas Sanford was into as a kid!"

"I never liked soap operas, you freak." Sanford rolled his eyes.

"You just don't wanna' admit that you were SENSIBLE, Sanny'!"

"...God..."

"I'll call ya' Double-S' for short! Sensible Sanny'! HA!"

"You need to be quiet."

"Go pick maggots out of your fur!"

"Rob', let's go, where do you think she is?"

"DON'T IGNORE ME, YOU FUCKER!"

"-I'm thinking she's by the eastern side," Robert pointed to the extension of the stadium down the way they faced. "The gate's on the complete opposite side of where we are- and if I know Jess', she's walking around trying to get a story from the guard patrols."

"Why is she doing that?" Sanford raised a brow.

"I didn't get the whole thing, brother- probably something about what I'M looking into, the Institute." Robert frowned. "She started trying to usurp me from certain stories... I never called her out on it because, I felt bad, w-who wouldn't-?"

"We don't have time." Sanford rounded the building's corner. "Let's go."

"That was COLD, sir!" Hancock admonished as Rob' moved ahead silently. "And I LIKE it! You could be the next great de-motivator! DRIVE OUR ENEMIES TO KILL THEMSELVES, SANFORD! USE THE FORCE!"

"Jesus Christ- PLEASE. SHUT. UP."

"-You two do this everyday, don't you" Robert mused.

 ** _CLK_**

"-SHIT-!" Sanford swung in front of Robert, and a flash of light, an orange bolt- both bounced away like a tiny explosion of molten metal off of the X-01's suit's front glacis.

The detective stumbled back- he gazed up at Sanford's helmet.

"DON'T JUST STAND THERE! RUN!" Sanford barked.

 ** _CLK_**

-Another round punched off the metal surface of a rusty car as the three of them scrambled to the side, and hunkered behind it's flank.

Sanford fell to a kneel- he examined his two friends with quick glances- nodded at Robert, who now saw a tiny dent, blackened in the direct center, on the Power Armor's breast. That was level with where his head had been.

"-T-Thanks for the save, Mr. Sanford." Robert stuttered- reaching over his neck, and pulling his hood over his cranium. "I owe you a drink."

"Another sharpshooter, second floor, down there," Sanford glanced over the hood of the car- there was a building right beside the corner of the stadium wall down the street- it was a straight shot down to it. "He's got some kind of bolt action, not a .50, so at least that's-"

 ** _PNK!_**

-A round punched clean through both passenger doors of the car with two separate shrieks- it left a ragged gash the size of Rob's fist, and the round flew away right past his left thigh, and Hancock's right claw.

The robot looked down at the damage dismissively, and Robert flinched back with a horrified expression- glowing blue eyes darting between his leg and the hole in the door.

"-H-Holy lord- that was TOO close!"

"See that! I'M, a good luck charm!" Hancock bumped Robert in the shoulder with his claw. "A few inches to the left and you would've been less one ball! You were saying something, sir?"

Sanford, sighed, had his own bolt action in his grasp- he glanced over the hood of the car, came back, and aimed for the window he saw the attacker standing in.

The guy wasn't far away enough that Sanford couldn't see detail- he had the same leather armor uniform the people back at the museum did- but within the next second of Sanford pulling the trigger, it didn't matter anymore.

His gun kicked, and the figure jolted back- still holding his long, .50 caliber rifle in one hand, the other hand clenching over his eye.

The sniper folded behind the brickwork of the windowsill.

Sanford ejected the shell, looked down at Robert and Hancock, and nodded.

"Let's move up, sniper's dead."

"That was fast, brother!" Robert laughed- standing up in a hunch, still tenuous about leaving the safety of the car.

"I'll cover the two of you- see that building over there? Move inside the first floor, clear it, I'll head down the street."

"Sir, life signatures show five more goons- and one of them, is right down THERE!" Hancock jabbed his drill forwards.

Sanford quirked a brow- and, as if to prove just simply the quality of the people they were dealing with- right as he redirected his eyes, a man aimed an assault rifle around the corner of the wall up ahead- Sanford nudged the barrel of his gun a bit and fired.

 ** _CLK_**

-The highwayman jolted, and his arms curled over his gut, he leant out farther from the brickwork he hid behind, his gun clattered on the street, and for a few seconds he wavered there, standing.

Sanford clenched his teeth, ejected the casing, slacked the bolt forwards, aimed down the sights, and shot him again.

 ** _CLK_**

-This time, the other person was down. They fell on their side, stopped moving.

Sanford slowly pulled back the rifle's handle- stopped looking at the corpse- he heard the casing bounce on the street.

"You're both clear, go." He muttered.

Robert and Hancock hurried around the trunk of the car- Robert's boots echoing down the otherwise silent street- Hancock's engine hissing. Sanford stepped past the vehicle's hood and started working down the street, out in the open, with his gun ready by his hip.

The life signatures showed the last four of their targets were just ahead- and, as he examined the small business building down where the sniper had been, Sanford safely bet that they were in the lower floor of that exact structure.

Hancock and Rob' hid on the opposite side of the corner where the dead thug was still lying- the detective glanced round the bricks to see the corpse, with his eyes still open, and then peaked ahead at the building.

"They're inside, sir!" Hancock called over.

Sanford dropped the covering precautions- he hurried down the street.

This was taking entirely too long, he just wanted to shoot these people, or get them to surrender- it wasn't like they were dealing with an army, after all, they HAD killed that army at the museum.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Feng barely managed to get down the stairs without similarly tumbling down the ones he had in the lobby wing.

It took him a few minutes, a few more close stumbling calls- but he felt his way down the side of the hallway passages beyond the still ajar bulkhead that these people, and this monster, had apparently breached to kill his boss.

Entering the stairwell, he had tripped over a few corpses- his eyes were too screwed up for him to discern who they were- but as far as he was concerned, every single merc' Hark had hired, and every single other member of their group was dead- which meant that Feng had nothing to lose.

In his vindictive nature, that same that had seen him an undesirable his entire life- he fumbled down the basement tunnels of the museum, and soon found the doorframe with which he sought.

His vision- not nearly as effected as that of the Deathclaw's -was perfectly clear, if not a tad fuzzy- and so he was able to shoot through the frame, and stand inside the chamber beyond to gaze up at the casks above.

Feng grinned with his yellow teeth- he stumbled towards the boxes and piles of supplies in the back of the cell- he flipped over a few wooden crates, and they bounced and made cracking reports against the steel floor.

Tools rung in slides down the floor whilst he overhead tossed any small objects that were in his way- eventually, he came back with what he needed.

Feng was deaf as he did all of this- he held the girth of a small metal ladder underneath his arm- it was a foldable one, tucked behind the pile, right next to the Gunner's 80' mortar that they had stuffed back there with it when they ran out of shells.

Feng was breathing so loud, that it sounded an echoing hiss in his mangled hearing- the ladder clacked and rattled as he set it up.

The highwayman turned around again, and this time, came back with a tool that was as long as his arm.

With rusty metal that was sleeved with orange resin at the handles- Feng held a set of industrial-sized bolt-cutters- and he stepped to the top rung of the metal ladder in all but three panicked swings of his boots.

He stretched as far as he could, extending the bolt-cutters to the top of the nearest cask.

Ironically, right as he found the chainlink, and slowly worked the teeth of the cutters on either side of it- his hearing was returning, and he got a sound that frightened him more than anything in his sad life ever had.

 ** _PMM-Bm-bm_**

-Something BIG, was lumbering down the hall outside the cell.

The Deathclaw had followed him.

He needed to work fast.

 ** _ccHHNK!_** -The bolt cutters snapped the clenched link- **_BMMMMM!_** -The cask left a sizable indent in the floor when it hit the deck.

The impact was so voluminous, that the ladder actually threatened to toss him off. However, Feng had already scurried onto the floor level- he braved everything and turned his back to the doorframe behind him that lead out into the hall.

He started pressing buttons on the console of the cask's flank- his mouth was open in a silent scream- eyes wide, sweat cascading down his face- urine formed a small river down his left thigh.

He remembered the code that Hark knew- THE code, that would bring the shit down.

He hit the confirmation key.

The cask jolted, there was an electronic whine from the cask.

 ** _PLM-PLM_** -He spun around.

The Deathclaw stood there, leaning into the cell, with her fingers wrapped on both sides of the frame- two rows of sharp teeth being revealed from her curling chops.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?!" She screamed at him.

"TAKING YOU DOWN WITH ME!" Feng shouted.

She surged in at all once- Feng started screaming, he backed up and collided with the front of the cask, that was still beeping and whining from its tampered-with console.

The Deathclaw was all over him.

Feng was lifted off his feet- he kicked and flailed in the air, with a massive hand that just wrapped over his whole head- she didn't do anything specific, like clenching his throat, or the back of his neck- she just clenched his whole head, lifted him up.

Feng's screams were muffled in her palm- and as beforehand, she was so, so, ANGRY- infuriated with everything that had happened today- she grabbed the highwayman's torso with her other hand, and twisted with the other.

It was like breaking a toothpick- Feng's entire body jolted, his hands opened and then went lax.

She twisted a bit more for good measure, and dropped the corpse on the floor, where it tumbled over and sprawled on the deck- Feng's head being wrung so far to the left, that he was looking BEHIND his own shoulder.

Minding the cask now as her blood rage started to filter out- the Deathclaw butted the thing with her hand- and the cask bucked and settled, still beeping, still making noise.

She looked down at the dead thug, and then back at the console on the container.

...What had that little shit done?

 ** _WHHM_** -The cask made a whining grind of cogs.

Suddenly, steam shot out from all sides of it.

 ** _PK- chhhsssssmmmmm_** -And the whole front lid, the rectangular, black plate concealing the cask's insides from the exterior world- started to loosely slide off of its moorings.

She stepped back.

 ** _CLM-clmclmclcm..._** -The lid clattered on the floor in front of her- like if a coffin was stood up and had disgorged its top.

The Deathclaw for the first time saw the white-ish' interior of the cask- steam was still thickly coursing from vent filters that lined the padding inside the container.

She squinted at the thin, cell-shaped bevel that was deeper in the cask's insides- through the steam, and swirling cold air- she saw a shadow of something... Humanoid.

The shadow twitched- two blue orbs of light flickered to brightness at the shadow's top, rounded level.

The Deathclaw watched this unfold in wonder, and then there were more clattering sounds against the flooring of the cell, metal objects raining down by the tens, and laying flat after bouncing off of the steel. She had to sidestep as one of these disturbances slammed off the floor right where she was standing.

The Deathclaw glanced around the chamber.

The floor was now littered, with a dozen or more of the same kind of cask lids like the first.

She clenched her teeth, and looked up.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

 ** _PMPMPMPMPMPM-_** The body folded in on itself before Sanford- the entire man glowing a molten red, and contracting onto the floor below- when the lights faded, all that remained down there was a tiny hill of sparking sand.

 ** _CLAK!_** -Robert's .44 echoed throughout the whole structure- and the single round punched clean between the eyes of some goon who had rounded the storefront doorway ahead with a handgun in his grip.

The colt dropped with the body, and discharged once to leave a hole in the wall to the left.

Together, the two of them stood triumphant in the interior lobby of the building- now littered with two corpses.

"... _TAKE THAT, COMMUNIST..._!" Hancock shrieked from the other side of the building- past the doorframe behind a little green counter, the same Robert had ended his own kill in- there was muffled plasma being discharged from the robot's gun, a body thudded against something wooden. "... _Ha-HA! VICTORY! U.S.A! U.S.A! U.S.A! I FEAST UPON YOUR DEFEAT WITH MALICE, BITCH!_ "

Sanford shook his head at Robert, who was already giving him a strange look.

"Does he do that often?"

"You don't know the half of it." Sanford grinned. "Alright, Han', c'mon, we just have one more guy to-"

"DON'T MOVE! MOVE AND I'LL SHOOT HER!"

"-to kill, yeah, I think we found him."

Sanford and Robert Cannary spun to gaze back out of the front entrance to the store's first floor- they brandished their guns, and standing with his arm over the subject in question's neck- was a big man, burly, bald with a shaven face, and one eye that looked larger than the other, oddly.

He was an ugly fellow- like described, real fat- he had tan leather all over his body that had cage armor welded over it- and there was even a square, protective box of the slatted metal that capped over his whole head, supported by a rectangle of welded steel hung over both sides of his shoulders.

Held in a head-lock, was a young woman with brownish-black hair, darker hued face, with navy blue eyes- she was garbed in a ratty looking overcoat, kind of similar to what the Minutemen wore as their standard uniform- her teeth were exposed, clenched, and her eyes were really wide.

Sanford focused on her a bit longer than he normally would have.

After all, she was... Beautiful. She was really beautiful. Sanford hadn't seen a girl like this in... Before the bombs, even, it was... Wow, look at her.

"I said don't move!" Her assailant snapped again when Robert shifted on his boots.

The fat guy had a sidearm pressed against her temple- and from the length of the clip, Sanford guessed it was an automatic handgun.

The woman locked her eyes on Sanford for a moment- and then she looked over at Robert, and shockingly, her eyes got BIGGER.

"-R-ROB'?!" She sputtered.

"Quiet." The thug snapped behind her.

"...I'll make you a deal," Sanford nodded at the highwaymen. "If you let the lady go, I'll put my gun down, and let you run."

"Fat chance." The man growled. "I'm backing out with her- and you're both sittin', RIGHT there, and if you move, I shoot her."

"-'Fat'- being the word of choice here," Robert sneered. "Nothing you do is saving you, Greg."

"You know him?" Sanford asked suspiciously.

"He was one of Hark's seconds." Robert looked at his newfound ally out the corner of his eye. "Hark's nothing but a skidmark on the front of his desk now though, that he is."

"...You killed Hark? You KILLED him you idiot?" The man barked. "T-That means- that means they'll enact protocol- I-I... I gotta' go-"

This 'Greg' character, shoved his captive into the doorframe- where she stopped her plunge by gripping the arch- her long hair jolting over her face,

The thug started to leg it back into the street- but Sanford beat him to the game- his armor rumbling the whole interior of the store- he used his arm to nudge the woman aside- aimed down the sights of his Laser rifle, and sprayed the waddling scumbag's back.

The man made a coughing sound as carbon energy ate completely through his torso in misting blasts of crimson energy- Greg crumpled face-first on the street, arms extended over his head- the slat armor on his body clattering against the pavement.

Sanford lowered his gun and blinked at the steaming corpse outside- he grumbled a curse, and looked down at this woman that had her back compressed to the frame on the other side of the arch from where he leant through.

She looked up at him with big eyes, shut mouth- intimidated.

"-T-Thanks." She said finally, smiling thinly.

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

"Good to hear. Are you Jess'?"

"Yeah." She had already looked back inside as Robert, who up until now had kind of been frozen inside the lobby of the store- came up, and grinned cheaply beneath his hood.

"Hiya' Jessy'."

"Great reunion, Cannary." She spat. "I thought you told me, that you didn't have any 'Links' from you to me."

"I cleaned up MOST of them, for Pete's sake."

"Go to hell, Rob'! You go to hell! I said I never wanted to see you again, and I MEANT it God damn it!" Jess' looked up at Sanford, and pointed at his rifle. "Can I use that to SHOOT him?"

"I'd prefer nobody else being shot." Sanford grinned.

"BAH! You're no FUN, sir!" Hancock zoomed in from the doorway inside the shop, directly behind them- levitated beside Robert, and noted the young woman standing before Sanford. "Woah-HOAH! You sly devil-dog-thing you!"

"What are you getting on about now?" Sanford sighed.

"Startin' a harem, are we, sir?"

"What?! Are you out of your-?"

"Hey, lady, hope you don't mind some competition with Godzilla-Milla' down the street!"

"Hancock, knock it off." Sanford snapped. "-Let's keep our heads in the game here- did Diamond know you were kidnapped?"

Jess shook her head.

"No, they grabbed me two blocks from here..."

"What were you THINKING, Jessy'!" Robert cried. "Do you think Diamond's Finest are gonna' be EVERYWHERE to save you if you get jumped around here?!"

"Shut up, Cannary! Mind your own life for once!"

"-Unrelenting," Robert threw his arms at the ceiling. "I can't even- for goodness sake!"

"WOMEN! As usual!" Hancock pointed out. "Nature's Damsel in Distress! Every last one of 'em!"

"...Is your robot malfunctioning?" Jess asked Sanford lowly- bluntly, creeped out by everything leaving Han's vocal emitters.

"No, this is daily." Sanford sighed. "So you're saying Diamond had no idea-?"

 ** _BMM_**

-There was a distant banging noise, that was so loud, it echoed for several blocks around them, and throughout the city.

Sanford gazed outside of the doorframe- Robert jumped and fumbled with his .44, and Hancock stopped cackling at his recent few jokes.

It sounded like an old pre-War firework, actually... That was... Weird.

"...Uh-oh- SIR!" Hancock cried. "INCOMING PROJECTILE!"

"Fuck!" Sanford shoved Jess' back inside the doorframe- he heard a shriek in the air- the descent of something BIG. "Someone's shelling us!"

No sooner had all four members backed into the store lobby- did the street outside suddenly vanish in a deafening crunch of pavement, and a mushroom cloud of disgorged dust and debris.

Interestingly, for an artillery round, there was a severe lack of explosive detail- like, you know, FIRE and soot.

The whole building shuddered- dust fell from the ceiling and it kicked ghostly extensions of the brickwork from off all the walls inside- pebbles, rocks, and chunks of pavement bounced around outside the doorframe- Jess' and Robert looked away and covered their heads- Sanford hunched lower, Hancock was unmoved, and thoroughly ranting about how disappointed he was about the lack of flames.

The noise settled, the dust started to thin.

"Anyone hurt?!" Sanford called.

"I'm fine..." Jess' mumbled.

"Good as can be." Robert coughed.

"UNDERWEAR!" Hancock snapped.

Sanford stepped towards the doorframe- and smoke was washing over him in a big, tan-colored mess as he crossed into the outside space of the building.

He expected out there, on the street- a big crater, or even a dud shell for the lack of explosions- but sitting there, imbedded in the pavement on an angle- was a white-colored, egg-shaped... THING.

"...What the hell is THAT?" He mumbled to no one in particular.

It was a metal pod of some sorts- it was egg-shaped at the bottom, with a rounded butt plate that had taken the force of the impact- jutting from the rear center of that plate, was a antenna-like construction, with mechanical parts on it, that were MOVING on it.

Rounded plates of metal rotated clockwise all over the stalk-like protrusion- there was a sensory orb at the pole's top- and it was pulsating a white-like hue.

The strange, detail-lacking device hummed lowly, and sat in the middle of this crack it had created in the street from where it had landed.

Sanford broke his gaze from it briefly- he looked at the sky, and, he didn't see any kind of craft, or THING that could've dropped it.

...Was it a munition of some kind? A shell?

What in the living hell WAS it?

The party of three gathered at his side and similarly were at a loss of what to do, or say, or think of the object. It was as tall as a man, and it was still humming.

"...It's obviously Communist!" Hancock blared after a bit. "BURN IT! BURN IT ALL!"

 ** _WHM_**

 ** _whm-WHM-WHM-WHM-WHM-_**

-Something mechanical rotated with a robotic whine- it rotated again, and again, and again- and then-

 ** _CHSSSK-csshhhhhhh_**

-There was a flash of light, static electricity buzzed in the air, and an invisible wave of heat wavered everything before their faces.

One minute there had been nothing but this strange egg-pod thing- and in the blink of an eye, there were now PEOPLE, that were standing around this pod.

They were pure-white colored, they had plates of metal that were carved and sculpted to resemble organic curvature. They had combat belts stocked with cylinder-like containers and black grenades- they were wirey, and thin, and they had no lips on their robotic faces, leaving a constant, skeletal grin with metal teeth.

Blue colored electronic eyes glowed in their rounded, circuit-wrapped sockets.

It was a squad of synths.

It was the Institute.

One of the synthetic soldiers arched its arm in a chopping motion before it- the hand folded in on itself, compressing and transforming- the fingers layering in on themselves, the palm receding into the wrist.

 ** _sssSSHK-SHM-BCLKCLK_**

-A black-colored saber shot out in the hand's place, and then, a translucent rectangle of bluish light flickered to life around this wrung of metal.

The holographic blade was sharpened in a corner-heavy tip at the edge- and it had square-like teeth patterned along both sides- like a perfected, technologically influenced representation of old-world serrated swords.

The synth extended a pointing finger at Sanford and Hancock, and Robert and this new 'Jess' - that they had saved.

Five or six Institute standard laser rifles primed in the hands of the other robotic warriors.

The Institute had come for them.

Sanford wondered for a second, how the Enclave would react to this.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	47. Chapter 46

**CHAPTER 46**

 **Diamond City**.

* * *

Only after he had been forcibly operated upon by the mysterious group of 'Surgeons' as they called themselves- did Robert start to wear the coat and hood. He ALWAYS, wore the coat and hood. It was a safety precaution, a security that he needed in his new life- people who didn't know him, might see him as a threat.

Synthetic people had been given a pretty horrendous reputation after the Institute started sending out agents to murder people and replace them with artificial duplicates- because that hadn't always been a thing, and there had been and still were many synthetic folk who were not part of the Institute.

In the organization's early days- and, he only knew this because he had spoken with a handful of Synths that had actually been around to see it and tell of it -the Institute had the goal of rebuilding medical science and technology to a pre-War state, in order to piece back together human society, the synths were just more citizens to speed that along.

Yet when the years started to roll by, and the Institute found it harder to cooperate with people in ways they did not see fit, or effective- they started becoming more forceful in the manners of which they presented their arguments.

It started out pretty small- for awhile, people described the Institute as a bunch of- 'Pompous Assholes' -and -'Self-Endearing Big-heads'- far from the descriptions of boogeymen and spies that killed and replicated your loved ones.

There were some shootouts, people started telling Institute representatives to be on their way- and so the scientists and their population of synthetic people retreated somewhere underground- where that somewhere WAS, no one knew, and Robert doubted that ever changing.

The Institute, now cut off from their constant supply of diplomatic exchanges of technology samples, relics from before the War, freedom to traverse the surface and the steady flow of information and trust- turned to darker ways of acquiring what they needed to continue their work.

THIS, was what caused many synthetics to leave the Institute while they had the chance too- but after a few runaways, the Institute started mind-wiping their staffs of synths, deploying them as footsoldiers and guards- newer generations were made, like the Gen-2's and 3's, and rumors told of a mythical Gen-X model.

Having established themselves as a master of espionage and technological prowess- the Institute rarely fought its foes directly, resulting to more subtle acts of special operations, assassinations, sabotage, and skirmishing strikes to devastating effect.

This was what troubled Robert Cannary in the far rear reaches of his mind- it was a back-thought, because the thing he was most concerned with in the moment, was getting into the doorframe of the store, to avoid being chopped into little plastic pieces.

When the shooting started, the first thing Robert did was grab Jessy- and he tugged the two of them into the door arch of the building behind them- the one he and Sanford had cleared of goons- and the pair fell to the floor inside.

Laser fire cut through the air all over the place as the synthetic ground team was dropped right on top of their intended targets- Sanford and Hancock were the only ones to persist in the open for a moment- Sanford's rifle, and Hancock's plasma gun blaring wildly as they fell back for cover of their own.

Carbon energy burnt uselessly off of Sanford's suit a good few times- hitting him dead-center the cuirass, or by the improvised plating on his gut- and Hancock got nailed with a good few shots too- but of course, seeing as he had been upgraded by the engineering mind next to him so many times throughout the years- the shots weren't very effective.

"-IT'S LIKE A HAILSTORM OF DEATH-!" Hancock screamed- his thruster igniting- and giving off a deafening **_BANG!_** -and a flurry of sparks as he rocketed through the brick arch of the store.

Black smog belched everywhere in the form of a ludicrously accidental smoke-screen from the robot's dirty internals- Sanford was lost for a second in this pluming bushel of black that consumed the entire front bottom floor of the building's face.

He sprayed the remainder of his rifle's battery in a swaying motion to and fro- and then he slipped back inside the brick interior as the smoke started to dissipate.

Hancock had unintentionally given him some leeway. Again.

"-I'd say thanks-!" Sanford grunted, peering out the frame, switching sides of his battery on the gun. "-But you RAN on me! AGAIN!"

"IT WAS A TACTICALLY SOUND RELOCATION!" Hancock barked. "HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE ME OF FLEEING FROM A BUNCH OF PORCELAIN NAIL-CLIPPERS WITH LEGS!"

"Rob'! Get up!"

Robert and Jess' were flailing to get off of the floor- and the woman looked utterly even MORE angry than she had been to begin with- and the second the two of them were standing again, she spit at Robert's boot, and glared at him.

"...See that, Mr. Sanford? I love this gratitude." Robert shook his head, dusting his coat off, and checking the side of his .44.

"Take that back door," Sanford nodded at the rear entryway- it still had the dead guy Robert had shot laying on the other side. "Go get help from the city!"

"Roger that!" Robert said hurried, grabbing up Jess' hand.

"Get off me, prick!" She snarled- and then the two of them were out the green arch of the doorframe.

Sanford watched the back of the building for a bit- sighed, and peered over the side of the front frame again.

 ** _WHHSM!_**

-A red bolt of light flew inches past the cranium of his helmet, into the lobby of the store, and smacked into the wall back there.

Sanford pulled back, and growled.

"-They're gonna' pin us in here."

"LET'S BULL-RUSH 'EM!"

"I don't think that's a good idea, do you?" Sanford admonished as his robot prepped a missile in the chamber of his launcher.

"BONZAAAAIIIIIII'!"

-Maybe Hancock was onto something.

It was worth a try, they had no other options besides trying pot-shots, and the synths had them completely covered by this point, probably.

What the hell? A suicide charge might work.

Hancock stuck his launcher limb around the corner- and fired a single warhead that careened across the pavement out there, and landed smack-dab on the pod-device that had landed earlier.

 ** _BMMMMM!_**

-The white pod, and all the synths still gathered around it vanished in a plume of broiling fire and black smog- sparks flew, and something metal screamed.

Sanford went out first- he stepped outside the frame, and sprayed the whole blast zone with back-forth sweeps of his rifle as he waited for his scan filters to pinpoint specific targets.

 ** _PMPMPMPMPMPMPMPMPM_**

-A few outlines of humanoid, skinny figures were shown scrambling to get off of the ground around the pod- Sanford specifically aimed down the sights and pumped each one he saw with a quick burst.

Hancock flew right past him- and right up to the edges of the blackened cloud- he was laughing maniacally while this happened, mind you.

"-HAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! EAT NAPALM YA' TROTSKY LOVERS!"

 ** _ffwwwWWWHHHHMMMM_** -Jets of lubricant-dashed flame shot forth into the smog- and Sanford saw a humanoid torch light up like a candle against all the black- the limbs jerked and flailed soundlessly, before the glowing figure collapsed on the ground in a whipping heap.

"GET 'EM, HAN'!" Sanford called out.

 ** _PMPMPMPMPMPMPM_**

 ** _CLAKCLAKCLAKCLAK_**

-...Soon, the smog started to whip away, the fires grew short and stubby to the pavement- the white pod was revealed, not so white and pristine anymore.

Sanford expected yet another field of bodies, with the centerpiece being a smashed device that had apparently allowed a group of synthetic soldiers to teleport themselves right on top of them.

When the smoke did settle entirely- he did find that there were bodies, a whole cluster of them, but, not nearly enough to warrant reasoning of the whole unit being wiped out- and the pod... Besides a big scorch mark and ragged dent staining the whole front of the blast plate, looked completely intact.

"...Aw that's BULLSHIT!" Hancock cried. "I wrecked that thing! I was robbed!"

Some of the destroyed synths were still sparking, or twitching- arms would move and make a whining sound of servos malfunctioning. Sanford swept his gaze about the street, down the way they had come beside Fenway.

There couldn't be more than five or six bodies in there... Some of the other synths must have relocated-

 ** _SSSHK! zzzzz-_** A synth suddenly appeared right in Hancock's face.

"-HOLY BALLS!" The robot jumped back, his engine flaring- the synth raised one of those strange robotic/holographic blades that acted as its left arm-

 ** _PMPMPMP_**

-And Sanford shot it in the head with a quick burst of lasers.

The robotic cranium popped open in a fleck of shredded electronics and metal- sparks whipped through the air, and the synth catapulted onto its side, twitched, and made a small whirring noise as the body stilled.

Hancock relaxed from his tight recline- he peered down at the body, saw the holographic blue of the blade flicker away, like a dying light-bulb would- and all that was left was the black pylon that had projected it from inside.

"Thanks for the save, sir!" He called over.

"Yeah-yeah, don't get your-"

 ** _SSSHK! zzzz-_**

 ** _SSSHK! SHHSK! SHHSK!_**

"-Shit-! HAN'! GET OUT OF THERE!"

"IT'S LIKE THAT ZOMBIE-GARAGE ALL OVER AGAIN!"

-Now there was ANOTHER cluster of synths standing around the pod- they all had their weapons raised, and Sanford did the first thing that came to mind, and he raised his gun for them-

 ** _WHM-WHM_** -And then a trio of red bolts flew right past his head, from above.

The man cursed loudly, he floored it back towards the shop- lasers scything through the air all around him, burning into the street, hitting the bricks- he flung himself behind the corner of the shop's flank- took a glance over the bricks, and saw in a second-story window of a nearby building- there were a pair of synths from the FIRST group that had taken up positions there.

These guys relocated faster than the Gunners. Damn.

Like a single machine, instead of a group of them- the synth squad that had been beamed in finished pinning the position Sanford had run off to, and they shot at wherever Hancock had hidden himself- then they broke into groups of twos and threes.

Sanford tried to aim around the bend to suppress them- but more shots clipping into the corner covering him forced him back down.

The synths spread out across the street- a pair of them went in the same building as the team before- three more kicked down a door and set up inside the lobby of another store- and three more were flanking down an alley.

Sanford saw a synth that looked more authorative than the ones around it- only through quick glances, at that- it had a holographic blade for its right arm, a Laser pistol in its right hand, and the synthetic plating making its body was bulkier at the limbs- it had a separate cuirass and a thin-visor helmet of white metal protecting it.

The synth stood by the teleporter pod in the middle of the street- Sanford could hear it making garbling, electronic sounds- it used its holographic blade to point, and wherever it pointed, a cluster of synths moved in that direction.

It must have been a leader of some kind, a sergeant, or a controller- he didn't know, but he needed to shoot it.

So Sanford waited for another interval- he propped round the corner, and sprayed the pod's area with a side arc- nothing too accurate.

Two other synths at the leader's sides were bolted down to the ground with ragged gashes ripping open their metal chests- the leader raised his bladed arm- and what Sanford saw immediately had him ducking back down.

A rectangular, curved field of blue, like what made the blades they were using- flickered to life around the synth's forearm- it looked like a translucent shield of aqua, textured with constantly flickering hexagonal patterns of bright white.

The shield was large enough that the synth was able to hide its entire slim form behind it- it fell to a knee- and all of Sanford's shots flecked away harmlessly around it, or off of the shield, which flashed vibrantly with each impact.

"...Holy shit." Sanford started changing the battery's side on his gun. "-They have SHIELDS?!" He hissed.

"- _Hold on, SAN-FOOOORDD''!_ "

 ** _BMMM!_**

-The synth leader was now replaced with a great burst of fire and smoke- Hancock had launched a rocket.

"Nice shot, Han'-"

 ** _CHSSSK!_**

-Shattering glass from the building right next to where he hid.

Sanford looked up, and he saw two humanoid shadows falling a whole story towards him- millions of shards of destroyed glass formed a cloud that descended with them- the two synths, expressionless with their skull-like faces- fell to him wielding Laser rifles.

If the remains of the window they had jumped through weren't clattering all over the pavement- they would've landed silently- and so the two synthetic soldiers were up on their feet and aiming down the sights of their weapons- practically in Sanford's face.

He spun around and shot from the hip- advancing towards them in a run as he discharged his rifle- the one on the right toppled with misting crimson from a blackened belch of debris from its chest- the other took a hit in the arm- and it still managed a single shot one-handed that flew over Sanford's shoulder pauldron.

He was upon the robotic man in an instant- the synth dropped its gun and came at him with its fists.

Sanford tried to use the butt of his rifle as a blunt- he slammed the curved end right into the synth's chest- where the metal bucked, indented and cracked.

Stumbling back from the hit, the machine ducked, and side-wound right beneath his arms- Sanford was just turning to meet where the dodge landed it- and a fist cracked him right in the forehead of his helmet.

 ** _PNK!_**

-It was a loud slap of metal to metal- it made Sanford's ears ring, his neck jerk.

If he hadn't been wearing the headgear, the synth actually could've killed him with the amount of force its limbs were designed to cause when used for blunt force trauma- but Sanford was still able, and he had his OWN strength enhancements.

He wrapped an arm over the synth's scrawny hips- brought it in a heave to the left, and body-slammed the robotic warrior onto the pavement below him.

 ** _CLK-clkc-lck_** -The body didn't even sound like a real BODY had fallen- it was like if someone dashed a car-door on the street.

The synth made to stand, but Sanford raised his boot and brought it down on its chest- **_CRRKK!_** -the heel and toe penetrated all the way to the victim's back plating- sparks flew everywhere, and gears whined and screamed as the synthetic's limbs convulsed.

The head rose and fell repeatedly, bucking its cranium against the pavement- the whole time as the machine lost its ability to function- the expressionless, skeletal face remained upturned and locked on Sanford- still trying to process how to kill him even though it had already lost.

 ** _BM_** -Sanford spun around- and saw ANOTHER synth had landed from the window above- it stood in the center of the concrete a foot away from him- a holographic blade flickering at its left.

The synth's bare hand was clenched in a fist on the opposite side- the fingers flexed once, and it sounded like leather scrunching.

Sanford didn't even get to raise his weapon-

 ** _whm-whm-whm-_**

-The synthetic bolted at him in a full-on sprint.

Sanford switched hands with his rifle, holding it in the left- he yanked free his found cutlass from the other hip, pressed the rune on the hilt and heard the snapping whip of carbon energy coursing throughout the blade.

He hadn't locked melee weapons with someone in a while.

He hoped he still knew this good.

 ** _CSHK!_**

-Sanford brought the cutlass in a horizontal still before his face- and the synth's downward's chop was blocked- the holographic length bouncing off the red-tinted steel with a flash of light, and droplets of raw electricity flying about.

The synthetic paused for a moment, as if impressed- and then it rushed forwards again-

 ** _CHSKK!_**

 ** _CHSK-CHKK_**

 ** _CMM!_**

-Sanford was on the defensive here- he angled his sword left and right, slapped down a slash in either direction respectively.

 ** _ccCHSM!_**

-He caught the synth's blade as it arced in an uppercut- and then, the robotic man tore away, spun left- and Sanford was forced to take a step to the right- he angled his head back to distance himself as the holographic blade swiped parallel to the chin of his helmet.

"-WOAH-!" Sanford barked, stumbling back from the close call.

The synthetic warrior was coming at him again- when, perhaps with a little help from luck- Sanford saw movement in the window above that this robotic maniac's friends had jumped through earlier.

There was ANOTHER one up there- and this one just aimed a rifle down at him, not even risking getting close.

Sanford chose that brief interval of freedom he had with his gun- to raise his left arm and spray the window sill with fire instead of the charging melee combatant.

The synth in the window was tossed back with a vertically hacked chunk of its head burnt off.

 ** _CHHSM!_** -Sanford parried the first swing- that sent the synth angling down to the left-

 ** _wwhm-WHM-CLAK!_**

"-AUGH!"

The synth's entire torso rotated on the gyro pivot built into each of its thigh bases- used its one grounded foot for support, and brought its bunched heel in a long arc, so that it could, bluntly, kick Sanford in the face.

Again, the force that these machines were able to implement with physical hits was appalling- Sanford reeled off to the side, and the synth regained its footing.

"-GOD-DAMNIT-FUCK YOU!"

 ** _cccHHHRSKKK! zzzzzzzzzz..._**

-The synth lunged at him, and literally ran itself through on his sword.

Sanford had the weapon brandished two-handed from the hip- he snarled underneath his helmet at the expressionless mug of the synthetic as its arms and legs splayed on either side of himself- and all started twitching and writhing.

The sword was jutting out the synth's back- all the way through- a tower of crimson metal breaking from a blackened, sparking fissure in the white metals making its torso.

Sanford brought the connection to the side- swinging the corpse off the weapon, where it rolled on the ground, twitched, and then stilled- the holographic blade flickering away on its left arm.

Sanford examined the inhuman body for a brief moment.

-Then he looked up, and sprayed two more synths that jumped out with weapons primed.

 ** _PMPMPMPMPMPMPMPM_**

-The two bodies crumpled, steaming, ragged.

Lowering his gun, he rolled his shoulders and stomped back towards where the pod was.

He was DONE, with this shit today. Institute or not.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

All the talk Sanford had made on synthetics was very short, and it wasn't frequent- and even the rumors and stories she had been exposed to, were very short, and not frequent too- seeing as she didn't exactly have the options to talk to lot of people.

But everything she had heard, all pointed to synthetics being- 'Misunderstood' -and becoming generalized as child-killing monsters based on the actions of the mythical 'Institute'- an organization of pre-War science and technology that created them for its own use.

In comparison to the amount of time she had spent by D.C., her life in the Commonwealth wasn't very illustrious- it was a lot of walking, relocating, dreadfully boring days and sleepless nights- not once throughout the whole thing had she heard or seen anything from the Institute.

She'd bypassed militiamen, she'd bypassed travelers and merchants, she'd even bypassed small groups of Brotherhood that had entered Boston in sporadic scouting missions- but never, had she seen a group of synthetic soldiers.

Today was different, today, was A LOT, different.

Not only had she seen them, and them her- but the synths were trying to kill her.

The first one that stepped out of the pod had been her trepidation of simply slicing through all of them- she'd stood there in awe before the skull-like face of the synth, and she'd wondered if there actually was another possibility besides yet another fight.

Those hopes were stepped on in the following tustle.

Five or six of its fellows were stepping down from the ajar containment cells hanging from the ceiling- they all were pristine in their physical look- they had synthetic metal carved to look like curving human flesh- bugging electronic eyes.

They thudded onto the metal flooring and they all similarly started to throw themselves at her.

She backed off, raising her arms up to avoid the grappling fingers of one of the androids as it hurled straight past her, rolled on the decking in an expertly timed recovery- it skidded on its heels and both hands, clambered about, and was coming at her again.

They obviously weren't friendly, time to fight. AGAIN.

Was this all Sanford the connard', and that screaming machine did? Was fight? Kill? This was insane.

Splaying her clawed fingers- she swept left in a blindingly fast slash- and a synthetic clambered onto the floor with its mechanical chest torn open in five trenches that sparked and belched black trails of soot.

She brought her head back- a mechanical fist formed a tiny breeze past the tip of her nose- she lashed out with a backhand, caught the synth in the ribs, saw the body tumble before her- she finished it by bringing down her right claw and impaling it through the back, her nails reaching the floor beneath.

She tore away- slashed left, then right- **_SWK! ssshHSK!_** -The Deathclaw looped around, felt the ambience of another fly over her head as it attempted to grapple over her neck- she spun over and ran the synth through the base of its waist with her right fingers.

 ** _CLLKC! ccskskc...zzzz.._**

The android convulsed and made mechanical screams of malfunctioning cogs- she sneered, and flicked the body off of her hand, where it face-planted on the floor.

"-AGH-! GET- OFF OF ME-!" -A synth landed right over her back- and, given their size as normal humans- the strength of the arms that wrapped over her neck was immense, it was shocking.

The synthetic squeezed over her throat- she felt her mouth contract, and suddenly, she couldn't get air into her windpipe- pain overrode her gullet's senses.

She went bug-eyed- coughed, and brought her claws over her shoulders- she grabbed up the synth's head- and she tugged, hard.

 ** _CRSK-!_**

-She opened her palm and tossed the torn-off noggin like it was a sports ball- it bounced off the wall nearby and rolled away.

-But she was still unable to breathe.

The headless body- it's legs now flailing behind her as she shook her shoulders like a dog- was STILL holding onto her.

She got angry- reached up again, gripped the arms over her throat, working her nails under them- and she tugged forwards.

 ** _-CLK! whm-whm..._**

-The mechanical limbs severed at the elbows and clattered past her knees in several pieces- the body slid off of her and slouched onto the floor.

She gasped, the oxygen dazing her for a second- she blocked the doorway out of the chamber with her girth, blinking a few times to clear her hazy vision- she looked up at the casks now violently swaying back and forth up at the roof of the cell.

To her shock, they were all open- steaming, and unused.

She looked down at the floor.

-It was carpeted with the discarded lids, and a dozen shredded remains of Institute synthetics.

She had slaughtered them.

Taking a moment to compose herself- she kept her mouth open as she breathed, because of the soreness from getting strangled- she cuffed a knuckle to rub about her neck.

...If these synths had been activated by what that freak had done- and, she couldn't even see his body anywhere in there, as it was buried -what was to say that the men Sanford was going after weren't getting help of their own from this mysterious Institute?

...A sudden pit of dread formed in her gut, and it fell to her heels and stayed there.

Sanford may have made her angry- but she didn't want him to die. Not at all- in fact...

-She needed to find him.

Something wasn't right about this.

Something hadn't been right before, and something wasn't right now. Sanford was in trouble, she just knew it.

It took the Deathclaw all but fifteen seconds to dash out into the tunnelways, reach the concrete flight of steps, swing through the entrance wing, right past the Triceratops skeleton- and then-

 ** _clk-CRSSHHHH-!_**

-She shoulder-slammed right through the front doors of the establishment, into the garden sections outside.

The reptile practically flew down the stairs on all fours- glass flittering all over the place, several feet where she had put a brand new hole in the old metal frames of the doors.

She skidded right- and she aimed for the bridge, into the deeper portions of Boston.

Pre-War, she would've never have reached Fenway in time for what she feared.

But in the world that man had depopulated and ruined- she scythed through Boston City like a cleaver through custard. Sanford had always said it.

She was God-damn fast.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

"-AHAHAHHAHAHAHA! YYYYARRGG-!"

 ** _bbbbbbzzzZZZZMMM- CLK clcklckclkc_**

"-TASTE THE FURY OF MY BUZZSAW, BITCH!"

-Hancock drew the blade in a spark-vomiting drag right down the synth's waist- and the two halves hurled away to the side, clattering onto the ground.

 ** _CLAKCLAK_**

-Two bolts of plasma whacked into the chest of another synth, and that one fell back with its rifle spattering the air with red bolts.

"I'M UNSTOPPABLE! AH-HA! HA-HA! C'MON, WHERE'S THE SURVIVORS?! I'LL EAT THEM!"

The robot excitedly flew over the quad of wrecked Institute soldiers he had butchered- he had scans running, and the scans were showing the numbers of their attackers gradually diminishing as the fight drew on.

A bolt of crimson smacked dead center his chassis-

 ** _CRRK!_**

-it left a burnt dent, and magma-colored sparks kicked off at an angle.

"-You sister-slappin' son of a bitch! SAY HELLO TO CLARICE!"

 ** _SSHHM-_**

 ** _-BMMMMMM!_**

-A blast of smoke, falling bricks, and collapsing concrete vomited from the side of a building nearby as Hancock obliterated the window sill his attackers had shot at him from.

The Mr. Gutsy cackled maniacally.

"WOOOOOO! Oooooohhh-yyyYYYEEAAHHH, BABY! HA-HA! This is the life, right here! RIGHT HERE!"

-Hancock didn't have to go far in his hovering travels ahead- he heard gunfire, Laser fire specifically- the shrieks of broken metals- and right as he went to round a corner, a synth with a pair of holes bigger than a man's fist blown in its chest, toppled onto the street with soot trailing from its wounds.

The robot stopped short, looked down at the body as it stilled- and then glanced up as Sanford stormed over, stood before the casualty, and switched the coils on his gun's battery.

Sanford was sneering down at the wrecked android- practically growling -he noticed Hancock floating there, and nodded.

"-I'm runnin' out of targets here, Han'."

"That's the spirit! EXTERMINATION!"

"You see a leader synth around?"

"By the pod, yes sir!"

"After that?"

"Negatory!"

"Ugh."

"We're unstoppable! We're like the ultimate team of Democracy! We're like if Captain America boinked Uncle Sam and they somehow transmuted their combined genes into a bald eagle and then the kid shot out and screamed- 'FOR LIBERTY!' -THAT'S US! U.S.A! U.S.A! U.S...A... U.S.A... Why the fuck are you looking at me like that?"

"...No reason," Sanford blinked, looking around again. "-I really want to put a cap in that sucker from before, you sure your scans aren't-?"

"-WHAT IS IT WITH YOU, AND QUESTIONING MY SCANS?! YOU INSOLENT ASSCLOWN!"

"-Damn it, man! Quit yelling! They already know we're-"

 ** _PMK-!_**

-All at once, something practically flicked Hancock away like a fly.

The robot flailed down onto the street- clattered around, and rose all three ocu-lenses upwards- calling out-

"-MAN DOWN!"

-And came face-to-face, with a six-foot tall, armored, bulky, synthetic squad commander.

The larger android did not pay any heed to Sanford in the split second it had appeared- it raised its holographic blade, and brought it down towards Hancock on the ground, at its feet.

Sanford saw this unfolding- and without really thinking it, he realized his greatest friend was about to be hacked in half right in front of him.

Sanford was wordless- he surged forwards.

 ** _CLK!-_** His armored arms hooked over the synthetic's waist- and the two of them tumbled to the street.

 ** _CLM-CLmclmclmc..._**

-Sanford tried to pin the flailing android underneath the weight of his armor's legs- he had his rifle in his left gauntlet- the right, he focused on pinning the synth's blade arm with at the elbow joint.

 ** _clm! clm! clm!_** -The android's other fist slapped repeatedly into Sanford's pauldron in a futile attempt to gain traction in the deathly fight- but the enraged human kept his stance over his enemy- he shoved the Laser rifle's butt right underneath the chin of the machine's head-

 ** _clk_**

-And then he held down the trigger.

 ** _PMPMPMPM-CLLAAKAKK! ZZZ-zzzzzzz-ZZ-zzzzzz..._**

-The big synthetic twitched, and writhed- the limbs went limp, the feet stopped kicking, the cogs and gears went silent.

Sanford sat on the chest of a 'Corpse' of sorts- its head blown open like a blackened, metallic melon, that disgorged ruin across the pavement ahead and all over.

"...Agh," Sanford sighed, leaning back, the suit, and the dead synth- creaking as he did so. "...God damn it, I need a holiday."

"That was horribly anti-climactic!" Hancock commented from over his shoulder. "These Institute jerk-offs SUCK! What a bunch of Commie' supported noobs!"

"...Yeah, you're welcome." Sanford chuckled.

 ** _CLK_**

 ** _-clcmlcmlcmclmcm..._**

...Was that another synth?

Sanford winced when indeed, another synth- tossed out from an alleyway a few feet ahead- the only problem was, it didn't land oh-so-gracefully on its feet, and it was torn clean in half.

The machine kicked across the street, settled in the middle of it, and sparked quietly, the arms twitching.

The two heroes watched this transpire without a comment to it- Sanford stood off of the wrecked squad leader, the body jerking, and grinding against the pavement as it shifted from his weight.

He took up his rifle two-handed, and glanced at Hancock.

"...What the hell did THAT?"

"Maybe it's-" **_PM-pmpm... Clk-_** "-LIZARD GIRL! There she is! She followed us like the turd she is, sir!"

"Ms. Angrypants? What are you doing here!" Sanford chuckled, and turned around back to the wrecked synth halves ahead.

-A great mass of dark scaled, prehensile and bulky figure, had zipped out from the alley it had mauled the synth in- a tall, imposing, growling reptile of bioengineered perfection for killing and hunting.

The Deathclaw bent over on its leathery legs and prodded at the corpse of the android- making a tiny, deep moan in seeming disappointment to the lack of blood, and spilled innards.

Sanford would've continued to call out to it, to HER, but... Something seemed... Not right.

He watched the creature with a sort of horrified fascination, of half-realization.

...Had her scales always been THAT dark?

Had her horns always been that big, that ram-like?

And the spines running down her back looked a whole lot bigger than usual... When did she start growling like that?

"...H-Hey, tootse'?" Sanford mumbled.

"...Uhhhhhhh, sir? Perhaps we should oh, maybe... BACK UP?!" Hancock barked.

The creature stood not nearly seven feet tall, but a complete, whopping EIGHT feet tall- it tossed away the legs and pelvis of the synth with a dismissive casting of its claw- and then, it turned its head over its calloused shoulder, and glared right at Sanford.

...Those eyes were crimson. Not yellow.

And that face... That face was hideous. It had a huge underbite, scars all over, callouses and patches of roughly regrown out-of-place scales- a mesh of tiny thorns growing in a pattern over its temples and across its cranium.

The Deathclaw's nostrils flared, and he heard the snarling breath kick out from where he stood.

Its feet thudded against the concrete as it turned completely around- exposing an alien blend of human musculature, mixed with the sinewy sleekness of a reptile, to create a built torso that supported a thin waist, vein-riddled, scaly thighs- and a pair of arms that grew thicker at the fore from the elbow.

 ** _ssSHK_** -The reptile's nails grew larger as the muscles in its fingers relaxed.

"...Oh shit..." Sanford swallowed, suddenly taking a step back. "...Oh SHIT..."

"YEP! Called it! WRONG DEATHCLAW! TIME TO RUN!" Hancock panicked. "EVERYBODY STAY CALM, AND RUN IN CIRCLES!"

The Deathclaw's chops curled back in a canine-like sneer- it exposed a row of sharp teeth that were thicker, and yellower than the ones he had come to know over the last few weeks.

-And frighteningly, Sanford even knew what KIND he was looking at as he realized more and more, that he had grown too complacent with his companion of late.

It was a male, a really big, ANGRY, male.

This boy knew his shit too- all the scars, some of them looked like bullet wounds, the calloused hide that had developed over a lifetime of hardships and brutally won triumphs- an alpha bull.

This was a set back.

Sanford thought about never being able to apologize to her for their stupid little argument earlier.

-But his sentimental nonsense was gone from his mind the second the Deathclaw opened its maw, and HOWLED at him raggedly.

The beast surged forwards.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	48. Chapter 47

**CHAPTER 47**

 **Clash of Titans.**

* * *

Here was the one thing anyone in the Wasteland knew as an absolute fact- it was obvious, after all, his story had been doing nothing BUT discussing the very element of it.

The Commonwealth, D.C., Pennsylvania, all the way out West- it didn't matter where in the United States you were- all it was was varying forms of solitude, desolation, and ruins of a time that did not exist anymore.

So in the brewing darkness, the mystery outside the walls of the small, ragtag civilizations people had established for themselves- nightmares were born, whether from mankind's meddling, or from sheer nuclear mutation of the very cells that made the building blocks of organic life.

Monsters- not just animals, or vicious predators- these nightmares were monsters. Things you read about in ancient mythology, things that killed people for sport, things who laired in caves and mountains and whose homes were decorated with human remains.

THOSE, were the monsters- they lurked in the dark, and they struck without warning and they struck fatally.

Monsters, no matter how many Sanford had killed, were frightening.

Bluntly, everything in the wastes was frightening- but the monsters, the abominations were something else. They didn't fear the dark, they didn't fear people, they didn't fear radiation, or other monsters, or the environment, or the mysteries, or each other.

There was good reason the heartiest never underestimated the real nasty shit that lurked in the places no one tread.

However, it was the monsters that also did not fear daylight, and exposure, that were more ferocious.

See this is where the Deathclaw, HIS Deathclaw, came in.

She wasn't a monster.

But this beast before him, certainly WAS.

An ill tempted sort of parody to her- the reptile was larger, it was more imposing, its body was riddled with scars from a hundred wounds from a hundred different opponents- and whatever had pissed off the bull beforehand, had certainly earned it a bloodthirsty abandon as it came up against poor Sanford.

How it had appeared on this battlefield that was originally between man and synth, Sanford didn't know- whether it had just happened to be roaming around, or it was attracted to the noise, was up for debate.

The whole thing was a rush of motion- he reacted with how he had trained himself over the years, he twisted his body, angled back his gut, and then jerked back with his head-

 ** _SWSH!_**

 ** _SWSH!_**

-And black contrails of the monster's claws, each finger capable of puncturing titanium, flew past ineffectively each time.

But Sanford was trying to outrun a creature that had been biogenetically engineered, to be the fastest thing around- so eventually, he got sloppy.

 ** _Psk-MM!_** –He was just thankful it was the creature's fist that hit him, and not the claws.

Sanford didn't even get an opportunity to cry out in surprise from the hit- the Deathclaw was all over him like a fly to shit- it swung up and then from the side, and then when it missed him, its bunched hand came along and decked him right in the cuirass.

The reinforced steel making his suit added another dent to its long list of already outstanding examples- he was tossed clean off of his feet.

 ** _-BM-bmbm-CLLLMMM-_**

-He landed on one heel, and then tumbled onto his back.

Sanford grunted as he splayed out on the street- the concrete cracking by the plating of his lower waist- he fumbled about for his sword, for his gun- and right as he had the same dual-wield styled grip from before- the Deathclaw was hanging over him- a long, sinewy tail lashing behind it, it opened its fang-riddled maw, and spittle coerced the air as it bellowed down at him.

The thing's hand descended in a gutting motion- the Deathclaw was smart, for a feral- it knew to target the stomach- because, unknown to Sanford, or anyone else- this particular specimen had dueled other male Deathclaws twice its size, and each time it had won it had always disemboweled its opponents.

To the bull, Sanford was just another large foe that it held confidence in surpassing- terribly, the Deathclaw wasn't even hungry, it just felt up to the challenge.

-It had made a big mistake taking the downed man for granted.

Sanford angled the blade of his cutlass- and the sword drew upwards with a flick of his arm- cut straight between the crease of the 'Claw's middle and index digits.

Blood coursed in the air in a thin, dark vein as the reptile moaned and reeled back- Sanford made his point and sprayed the reptile's torso with bolts from his gun in the other hand.

 ** _PMPMPMPMPMPMPMPMPM-_**

-The beams of carbon energy ate into its chest and shoulders, singing and melting scale and flesh there in dotted wounds- the reptile opened its mouth and screamed out from the pain- it was a loud, deep-throated wail mixed with the trail of a snake hiss. Weird stuff.

Sanford scrambled on the ground, his armor lurching and bucking- he got on his feet-

"-FUCK-!"

 ** _SWSH-_**

-And he immediately found himself staggering back from an array of claws slashing right past his face.

The bull got angrier- it leapt right off of its heels, spread its arms on either side of it, and catapulted itself right into Sanford's chest.

The Deathclaw completely divided itself from the animal kingdom as a species- for even feral ones that still scratched their own asses for a past-time- they wrestled, and they fought like a regular humanoid.

The breath left his lungs-

 ** _PMM!_**

-Sanford again had his limbs spread out, he was on his back, dust was everywhere- and the Deathclaw pinned him with one opened palm over his suit's breast- and it reared back with its presented fingers, aiming downwards with the other hand for his stomach.

Wads of green, luminescent energy smacked into the Deathclaw's body- the creature howled, reared back its head- the hand aimed for Sanford momentarily convulsed, the fingers angling painfully.

Sanford took the moment- he heard Hancock screaming some anti-Communist rant in the backdrop- he aimed his rifle upwards, angling his wrist-

 ** _PMPMPMPMPMP-_**

-And while a bunch of the shots flew right over the Deathclaw's back, one clipped it in the temple-

 ** _-psk!_**

-And the base of its horn shattered into a hundred, dust-trailing pieces.

The weight compressing him to the street lifted off all in that second- the Deathclaw made this barking/hiss sound- it flew to a full eight foot stand before him, and it cuffed the stubble of its ruined right horn with its knuckles, bowing its head, groaning.

Parts of the blown-off horn were scattered across the street- the Deathclaw stumbled for a moment, shook its head rapidly- Sanford could see a river of blood coursing from the center of the stump of its horn, gathering down and at its jawbone, before flecking off in singular drips.

The reptile curled back its chops as Sanford stumbled to his feet again, and stood before it- aiming the gun at its head, as best he could from the hip- and brandishing his cutlass on the either side.

"-FUCKIN' GODZILLA WANNABE!" **_CLACKCLCKLCKLK_** –Plasma fire kicked up clouds of green around the Deathclaw's right arm- the reptile screamed out so loud that the air practically tugged at the mass of volume.

It stormed right past Sanford- a claw swiping past his head as the reptile at least made an effort to continue the fight with its first target- it closed on Hancock.

"-HOLY WEASELS-UNDER-THE-HEDGE! INCOMMINNNGGG!"

"HAN'! MOVE!" Sanford shot one-handed with his rifle- he drained the rest of the battery charge as lasers clapped about the 'Claw's lower back.

 ** _FffffFFMMMMMMM!_**

-Hancock shot into the air, disgorging a cloud of black soot that enveloped the Deathclaw when it stumbled right into where its prey had flown away from- it swiped at nothing, and comically, if Sanford wasn't focused on killing it, it would've been funny at how the reptile flapped its arms about.

 ** _PMPMPMPMPMPMPM-_**

-As if oblivious to the shredding energy fire that literally was stripping its life away bit by bit, the Deathclaw spun right around and came back at him- lumbering through the Laser rifle's fury- Sanford was able to pump a bit more juice into the shooting before the battery gave.

 ** _TSSSssss..._** -A small pillar of steam hissed from his weapon's frame- Sanford cursed repeatedly, a pattern of profanity, as he holstered the gun and readied himself with the cutlass.

He and Hancock had done a number on the Deathclaw- it was readily apparent as the creature closed distance to him in all but a second.

There were strips of cauterized scales and flesh pockmarked horrifically across its body- a chunk of its very hide had been blown away by its ribcage, revealing a sprawling gash of blackened crimson that gushed individual geysers of blood.

The Deathclaw didn't even heed the grievous damage done to its body- it bellowed again, leapt at Sanford who raised his sword-

 ** _PMK-!_**

-And then, a blur of gray impacted the Deathclaw from the side- the beast's head and arms snapped to an angle as they flailed opposite the direction it careened as a whole- holding it around the midsection, was...

-HIS Deathclaw.

...Oh boy.

Sanford couldn't really do much else beside watch the two reptiles grunt, hiss, bellow and groan as they rolled across the street- a tumbling ball of swinging arms, kicking legs, snapping jaws.

Sanford switched his battery on his gun, and he aimed at the pile- and then... and then he didn't shoot.

What if he hit her?

"HA-HA! Lookatthat! Old Lizard-Face is REALLY tearin' some skin!" Hancock bellowed from a distance-

 ** _BBBZZZzzzMMMM-CLK_**

-Sanford looked up at the roof of building flanking him- over the safety trim, he saw his robot finish buzz-sawing an Institute synthetic in half at the waist- the android was flung away in pieces, and Hancock gestured for Sanford down on street level with his gun.

"SIR! LOOKOUT!"

Sanford spun around, gasped, and directed the fury of his gun onto a synthetic that jumped out into the street, nearby the Deathclaws as they rolled and kicked in the center of the pavement. The android was blasted apart, and fell a blackened mess.

Sanford advanced towards where his friend and this monster were dueling- he ran forwards without another priority- so that was why right as he neared the borders of the fight, another synth with a holo-blade jumped out and landed over his shoulders.

"-DEATHCLAW!" Sanford yelled- swinging his body back and forth to dislodge the synthetic assailant- when the robotic man flapped onto the pavement- Sanford ended it and stepped on its head.

 ** _CSSKK!_**

-It shattered into a sparking, electronic pancake beneath his boot.

"DEATHCLAW! HOLD ON I'M-"

-Another synth ran out and stood before him with a blade.

"-GOD DAMN IT! GET THE FUCK OUTTA' MY WAY!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

See that? Fate right there.

She showed up, and right as she saw Sanford, her friend, her ally- she sees some jerkoff from the feral side of things lance out and try to eat him.

She hadn't run into another of her kind in almost eight or nine years- seeing as they weren't as prevelant as in the West Coast, like she'd heard- and she hadn't killed another member of her kind in around ten.

An even fight between her, and the biggest male she had ever seen on the East Coast unraveled in that street, right by Fenway Park- and even though her mind was garbled, and nonsensical as she concentrated on what her body was doing- she found it figuring, that it was SANFORD, who got her into this battle.

The two Deathclaws had been unable to land an effective blow on each other- they locked fingers, much like humans would lock swords- and the nails would get caught, and then torn away, and then they'd try to jab or slash from a different angle.

She managed to get on top of him- she used her weight, even though he was bigger- to keep him down long enough to rear back her jaws, and clench her twin rows of razor sharp teeth down on his collar.

The male bellowed loudly, and blood started to swell up in crimson bubbles around her fangs- she tasted the metallic, warm overwash- she shook her head, tearing and trying to work in her teeth as hard as possible.

The male's clawed feet drummed into her belly-

 ** _WHMWHMWHMWHMWHWMHWM-_** A rapid succession of kicks that knocked the wind out of her, she unclenched her jaws, and he tossed her off.

She landed on her heels- her opponent swung upright, and slashed from the left-

 ** _CLKCLlclckclk-_** -She intertwined her nails with his, and then he roughly tore away, came with a round-house from the other arm, clenched his fist, and decked her across the jaw.

 ** _whmp!_**

-A walloping blow- saliva trailed through the air, and her head was roughly slapped off to the side.

She reeled, sucked in her gut, and the male's swipe for her vulnerable section was missed by centimeters.

It was a fight of speed and strength- whoever was to win was the fastest, and the hardest hitting.

The problem here was, she was no longer on the offensive, which meant she was reacting slower- which for Deathclaws, was fatal. But where her foe momentarily caught her off guard- she still had the power of an intellect he could never hope to even come close to.

She kept backing off- and she waited for the right moment- soon, it came.

The bull lunged at her, completely off his feet, arms out, made to tackle her- she sidestepped and hooked out her arms faster than even the other 'Claw could process. Before the bull knew what was happening- he was being jolted back from his sailing flight, and there were arms over his chest.

Heaving from the weight- she hauled him as high as her arms would let her- she freed one hand, wrapped her fingers over the back of his skull, and then thrust downwards for the street.

The other Deathclaw's snout bulldozed into the pavement- even from where she was, even through the gunfire she heard in the backdrop- she still discerned the cracking of broken teeth, and possibly of his broken jaw.

The Deathclaw howled, muffled, and his body collapsed stomach-first at her feet.

She took the advantage, gripped one of his arms, hoisted it straight before her, and lined up with her other set of nails to his elbow joint.

If she could remove his weapons, he couldn't fight.

So that's what she tried to start doing.

She sliced upwards- and the scale and flesh of his arm was mangled in four lanes of ragged crimson- blood followed her nails as they passed through in the air above. The arm wasn't completely severed, but a few more slices, and that would be reality.

The bull SCREAMED.

It was a bawling, ragged shriek- his mouth looked like it was about to unhinge down there for how loud he cried out.

-Then, the other Deathclaw fought its last attempt to survive the encounter.

The bull's tail lashed out, tumbled over her calves- a set of fingers wrapped over her one ankle.

The male hollered, his body in agony as he forced his bioengineered muscles, despite being torn and broken- to pull out her feet from under her.

She gasped, the world rushed, she felt dizzy- she landed on her back, and she instantly started to try and scramble away so she could right herself.

But the bull wouldn't allow it- the wounded Deathclaw was atop her, and this time, he had a set of nails aimed for her throat- a downwards thrust- she didn't have enough time to get her hand up there.

"-DEATHCLAW-!"

-Unknown to her, her savior, in the amalgamation of metal and man that was Sanford- had finished tearing his cutlass free of a crumpling synthetic soldier's abdomen, and was beelining towards her aggressor.

Sanford kicked away the body of his recent kill- he stormed down the street, screaming at the top of his lungs in this animalistic cry she had never heard come from him before- a few more synths were actually brave enough to put themselves between him and the Deathclaws.

He hacked left and right, and cast aside holo-bladesmen with each strike, cleaving his way through each and every synthetic that tried to impede him- he ignored laser fire that bounced and burned off the flank of his suit- Plasma shots flew out from Hancock in the backdrop, and silenced the ranged attackers.

"-DEATHCLAW-RRAAGGH-!" Sanford's arms jerked free of resistence on either side of his person- and a synthetic body tumbled away from the sword's length, and its torn-off head from the other gauntlet's grasp.

The bull Deathclaw was halted in its final move for her- as Sanford was physically unassailable in his rampage to get to her.

Sanford raised his sword- gripping with both gauntlets- over his helmed head.

He brought it down right across the arm that his friend hadn't had a chance to damage yet.

Which meant that in the following moment, the bull Deathclaw was in trouble.

 ** _ssSSLLK!_**

-Everything from mid-forearm up was hacked off, and dropped uselessly with streaming arcs of blood shooting out, staining Sanford's suit, both Deathclaws' hides- and spattering the street in jagged splotches.

The male Deathclaw reared back its head and screamed out again- though this cry was abruptly silenced when Sanford leapt forwards, and tackled the massive reptile, his arms encasing around its ribcage- man and 'Claw tumbled in a tornado of dust and flailing limbs on the street.

Sanford gripped his sword- aiming the blade down- and ran it to the hilt through the Deathclaw's other shoulder- you know, the one that still had an arm that wasn't a stump.

 ** _CssllkKK!_** -It was so sudden that blood didn't even get a chance to bubble out around the blade.

The abomination howled, it screamed more, it wallowed in unimaginable pain- but that wasn't good enough for Sanford, because it wasn't DEAD, when it was dead, he would be satisfied.

Seeing nothing but red- Sanford took his bare gauntlets, gripped the Deathclaw's swinging head and forced it still. His teeth bore in a growling sneer- Sanford arced back his plated thumbs, and he lined up their tips with those crimson eyes of the bull's face.

He thrusted downwards.

...At this point, a few feet away, HIS Deathclaw, she was just getting up on her feet- and while for a fleeting second, she believed that the fight between her friend and this other 'Claw was still happening- the prolonged, drawling cries, the shrieks of defeat- the way the bull was convulsing and writhing underneath Sanford... That told her it was over.

She hung over Sanford, her nails still lengthened, eyes locked on the writhing bull- she grew less anxious for a fight, more concerned, actually- when she saw what Sanford was DOING to it.

The young man still had his thumbs buried in the Deathclaw's eye sockets- there was blood EVERYWHERE, it frothed out in such copius amounts, that flecks of it were catapulted upwards, where they stained and drew horrific shapes on his gauntlets and his forearms.

The male Deathclaw stopped moving eventually, but it took time- his one arm was stilled, his tail twitched underneath his calves- his jaw was slacked open, and the lower mandible loosely shifted as Sanford tore his hands free, and sat up on the bull's chest, heaving heavily.

His fingers were still clenching towards each other- and even through the gauntlets, it was noticeable that his hands were quivering.

Sanford looked down at the mauled beast- its eyeless face, its shot-up body and its mangled arm and its one removed arm...

...It was... Awful.

They'd torn him apart.

...He just... Looked at what he had done...

...Jesus Christ.

"...A-Are you alright?..." Sanford mumbled after the grotesque silence came and went. "...Did it hurt you?"

"...I'm fine, Sanford." She said lowly over his shoulder, lowering her arms, the muscles in her fingers drawing back her nails. "...Y-You saved me."

"You saved ME."

"...Then, w-we are even, monsieur'."

"...Yeah... Even."

"SANFORD! HOLY CRAP! SANFORD THAT WAS BADASS!" Hancock flew over by the Deathclaw's flank- he gazed down at the mauled bull. "You just completely skewered his FACE! Ha-ha!"

Sanford quivered up to a full stand- he quickly backed off from the large corpse, and he looked up at her, ignoring Hancock.

"...You sure you're alright?"

"...I'm not hurt." She shook her head, blinking. "...The synthetics in the museum attacked me, I killed them all."

"...How did you know to come here?" He asked, almost uninterested in the museum, and the synth planters.

"...Instinct." She answered.

-"-Diamond security! Turn around!"-

"...NOW they're here... Fuckin' unbelievable..." Sanford grumbled.

The three heroes turned around to see a man in pre-War umpire gear plated over with leather and steel- he wore an old BPD, S.W.A.T helmet and visor- and he carried an assault rifle.

There was a gunshot in the distance, and a synth that had been curling out from a nearby alleyway dropped on the street with sparks kicking from its head.

Sanford looked up, and standing in the shade of one of the wrought iron tower plats were a pair of similarly dressed men, one of them had a bolt action, and he ejected the casing and lowered the weapon.

Behind the guy on the ground, a small assortment of people gathered, and looked towards Sanford, the Deathclaw, and Hancock.

Robert Cannary stood beside none other than Corporal Jim Brody, who had the same angry lady from the carpenter square, Roe, at his flank- there were five other soldiers in Diamond uniform, one of them had no helmet, was bald, and was an older fellow.

"Sanford Tobs... Cannary broke it down for us, you and your... Deathclaw." He shook his head at the large reptile standing beside Sanford. "...A-And you can speak?"

"-Captain Liham." Sanford nodded, hissing from tightness in his muscles. "Sorry for the mess."

"Sorry I couldn't get here sooner, Tobs." Liham shook his head. "You alright? How's that 'bot of yours?"

"-WHAT THE HELL?! I had to wait for the random BALD GUY to ask how I was?!" Hancock snapped. "Fuck all of you and your lack of concern for my well-being!"

"Mr. Sanford," Robert nodded. "I'm glad to see you're alive and well!"

Sanford felt like walking over and punching him square in the head.

He controlled himself- glanced over at the Deathclaw.

"...Liham, I won't go in Fenway without her, before you ask."

"...Gimme' a minute to talk people so it doesn't cause a panic..." Liham groaned. "-Ain't ever let a Deathclaw in through the gates before."

"I was very adamant in stressing the point to them," Robert smiled. "I wasn't about to let a friend of Sanford's get shot, I got your back, sister."

"...Thank... You?" She raised an eye ridge.

Liham jumped when she spoke.

"What have you gotten' us into, Rob'?" He muttered.

"Tobs," Brody stepped forward, and tipped his trifold. "I came out the second I heard it was you."

"You LEFT us with your mess, connard'." The Deathclaw snapped from behind Sanford- Roe tightened her grip on her musket when she got loud.

"We'll discuss it later." Sanford sighed. "Right now, I just want to fucking sit down for a minute... Is that doable? Can I have a God-damned chair? And a quiet place to just SIT?"

"He DID save the city, Captain," Robert grinned. "Who knows what those Synths would've done if Sanford wasn't here to stop them."

"I'll give it to ya', Sanford, you had a bit of a spree." Liham looked around at all the sprawled out synths across the streets. "-And ya' killed another Deathclaw, that's... pfft, wow."

"OH-OH! Sir?! Sir, can I go to the announcer's dugout inside?!" Hancock asked, giddy.

"...I know he was a bit loud last time," Sanford rolled his eyes. "-But, can he?"

"...Yep'." Liham sighed after a second.

"WOO! Eat my contrails monkeys! I'll announce a homerun that never happened just to cause indigestion! HA-HA!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	49. Chapter 48

**CHAPTER 48**

 **Hit a Home Run, then face-planted right before the base.**

* * *

The teleportation pod that had been dropped off to allow the synthetic soldiers access to Diamond's outside was secured by Diamond soldiers, who tore open some panels and wrecked the wiring inside, preventing it from being used further to teleport more androids in.

Sanford, Hancock and the Deathclaw were 'Escorted' -this had been a common thing for Sanford and Han' before the sort of trust that was established between them and the city -to the main entrance gates, and Sanford saw that the Deathclaw at his flank, was also being watched down the scope by teams of snipers up on Fenway's tower-laden walls.

Fenway Park... Holy heck, he hadn't seen it for what it once was in a decade of HIS time, but over two hundred years in basic time.

He didn't remember a lot about what it had looked like when he was a child- he remembered masses of people wearing red and white, or red and green- caps and jerseys and water canteens all plastered with red script reading- _Red Sox!_ -or- _Go Red Sox!_ \- there was talking, laughing, cheering, crossing guards calling out for people to walk or cars to wait.

Sanford couldn't imagine anyone currently living in the former sports stadium could even comprehend that- thousands upon thousands of people, all the noise, all the activity, the FUN, who in the wastes beside him and Han' had he come across who comprehended fun?

There were SOME people, but the majority were just in it because there was nothing else they could do- you know, the old- 'It's either I wallow in this shit, or I'm dead, and I dunno' what happens when I'm dead and it freaks me out, so I'll stick to wallowin' in the shit.' -kind of thought process on it.

There were some pretty fine folk in Diamond, and some further south- but the passion of just living to be alive? Harder to come by in the dump that Boston had been rendered into.

So another thing that bothered Sanford, was not only the continuance of the earlier issue- him just being around all these people at once, and how it gave him hives- but the issue of exactly what he had thought of before came to mind.

The people in Diamond's ability to comprehend things.

How would they comprehend his Deathclaw?

Liham was so modest, so blunt about the whole thing-

"-I'll explain it to everyone."

-Yeah, EXPLAIN the talking, almost seven-foot tall reptile to the population of people who were taught from childhood that Deathclaws were family slaughtering monsters that lived in the dark and shit in caves, sounded absolutely easy flying from Liham's mouth.

Liham was always like that though- for the few times he and Sanford had conversed for longer than five minutes- Sanford had even gotten that blunt vibe, the 'To the point'- vibe from Liham, and that was discussing anything at all, even simplicities.

"I'm happy as long as nobody in that city gets whacked." Liham had said to Sanford when he quizzed something deep- a big question that was covered with a convenient smirk, a side quiz- 'Are you happy with your life'? -he had asked.

Sanford looked back on questions like that with a knowing shake of his head nowadays- what a thing to ask the city guard captain, of Diamond, no less- are you happy? What the fuck was Liham supposed to even respond with?

The man was almost fifty years old, he was an old guy by Wasteland standards- he'd seen things just as gruesome as Sanford had, he'd dealt with horrible and amazing things, he'd DONE horrible and amazing things, they had some kinship with that... But once that ship sailed, the age barrier, the different life experiences- Liham and Sanford weren't good for each other after more than brief encounters.

Neither man challenged the other, and neither man commented on the other- as Sanford got older and he started coming back with more and more stalwartness to his interactions with the security of Diamond, Liham became more tolerable of questions like that.

But what a goon Sanford had been.

Maybe nine or ten years ago he had asked that stupid question- are you happy? He asked that to a lot of people when he was first getting into the wastes, and really he wasn't interested at all in what they had to say about it either- he just wanted some self-assurance.

Because that was the question he asked himself awhile.

Am I happy?

HECK no he wasn't happy.

How could he have been happy when he was trying to learn to survive in an entire WORLD activily trying to kill him?

Sanford always said to the Deathclaw whenever they talked about it-

"I've had my time to be angry at how my life turned out."

-Well back then was his time. Sanford was angry, he was brash, he was stupid and he said and did stupid shit.

It had taken him almost a decade to fully master the things he did now, and even then, he still had so much to learn, so much to understand and mesh with...

So was life, but, life, precisely, wasn't so simple as it had been when he was a young child, like on the day he and his parents had shown up at this once bustling place of entertainment.

All those years ago, they trekked Boston City, all to watch a couple of guys swing wooden sticks at a ball.

Back then, the biggest threat they had to worry about was street crossings, and annoying soliciter stands that didn't know when to take 'No' as an answer.

...Back then, huh...

...Now look at this place.

All in the span of a few minutes, how unbelievable was that?

Sanford had been thrown into a fight with an entire contingent of armed androids with laser guns, and a biogenetically mutated lizard that wanted to rip him in half and eat him.

So Sanford had had his time to be angry, that had passed- but the fight for survival was probably never going to end until THE end, and Sanford purposefully avoided thinking about that finality to himself.

See that had turned into the NEXT question he always asked himself, instead of other people.

It started out as a query to happiness- it turned into two things-

'What would my parents say?'

'What will happen if I die?'

...He didn't know then, he didn't know now.

Sanford had no answer to either of those questions, and they were tormenting, particularly the latter.

They always said death was supposed to be something that just happened, you know- WHAM! -you're dead, something natural.

But that screaming Gunner back at the shop square earlier today?

How many times had Sanford seen direct proof that such nonsense was not the case?

It wasn't just the pain that scared him, it was the same thing he always asked, it was repetitive, he'd asked it a MILLION, God damned times, and no matter how many times he asked it to himself he always expected an answer when he would recieve none.

What was in the void after life ended? What did you do? What did you feel? See? Smell? Hear?

Is it just darkness? Like if you were blind and all your senses didn't work?

Is it NOTHING?

What did 'Nothing' feel like?

...Was there a heaven? Was there a God? Were his parents and friends up there?

...Or was there a hell? And had all the things he'd done earned him a place in endless agony?

Death, death, death, too much freaking death.

It was all he thought about sometimes- DEATH.

He inflicted it, he was at risk of suffering from it.

Such a thing he embraced and danced dangerously with every day of his waking life and yet he knew so little about it.

...Maybe the real question should have been-

'Is life just a road of hardships and horrors that I need to get through, in order to see something beautiful at the other end? When the gas finally runs dry.'

...Sanford had his head bowed at this mental imagery.

He looked over at the Deathclaw, who stood beside him, silently, along with several other of the folks that had ran out to meet them after the fight.

...Maybe the only light wasn't just at the end. He didn't know.

"...Is there a problem, Sanford?"

-She sounded grossed out as she talked to him.

Ouch.

That comment he'd snapped at her beforehand was really a dimwitted move.

Maybe even today, he still said stupid shit every now and again.

But that was part of being human. Though, with her in the question too, maybe better wording was, that that was part of being SENTIENT.

"...No problem," He coughed after a moment- lowly, he knew everyone around them was rather keen on observing the two of them- after all, she refused to stand in such proximity to anyone else. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Mm." She didn't look down at him. "Considerate." -She mocked.

"...Listen, I shouldn't have said what I said-"

"-Comme' vous avez' raison, connard'," She interjected sharply, eyes whipping down to him. "Actually, I find great pride in myself for besting my anger, and actually managing to form words in response to you right now."

"...For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"So am I."

"For what?"

She didn't answer.

Sanford, Hancock and her stood in the shade of the rectangular entrance gate to the interior of Diamond City- the grand entrance once used by all those crowds that had existed before the war. It was grimy, and all these years later it still had blast markings that had warped the surfaces of the walls of the very frame.

The chipped and browned metal was once painted all green, and now it looked, as described- brownish, cracked all over, there were veins of drawing blackness and shifting mass all over them.

Two staircases on either side of the gate area interior lead up to internal sections of the stadium walls- they were sealed over at the doorframes with welded plates of metal- as the security force didn't use the once vibrant chambers that made the insides of the stadium's flanks, the 'Bowl'.

After the war most of the rooms and chambers and boxes had collapsed- the walls were literally just mountains of debris nowadays that the people in Diamond used as a sort of natural barrier to protect them from the horrors of Boston's streets.

Ironically, as Sanford thought of that- he remembered that, technically, they were opening the gates for one of the things those walls were meant to keep out.

Liham had vanished back inside the duel sets of mechanical gates that sealed the main traverse point into the field- and once they had rattled shut again, Sanford and his companions found themselves surrounded by at least fifteen soldiers of the security force.

A row of guys, all silent, hidden beneath umpire and S.W.A.T gear, with all of their eyes locked on the Deathclaw- she glanced at a few of them every now and again, and grinned when they jumped to her sudden head movements.

Even though Sanford couldn't physically feel what the security men were experiencing- he could get a good idea that they were probably shocked, more shocked then they had ever been.

Each man and woman that was in the little 'Army' Diamond has set up for itself, had seen a fair share of combat situations, or things that were messed up, kind of like the stuff Sanford had gone through more times then he liked it to admit.

A lot of them had enacted the cruel art of taking life, some of them hadn't but had seen it- and they all dealt with a variety of travelers that passed by and to and from Diamond's gates- they ran into freaks, evil people, lovely people, confusing people, and people that just left an aura of idleness and stagnation in their wakes.

Never, EVER, had they come across someone with a monster, a Deathclaw, in tow.

Heck, some of the guards had never even seen one before.

They were all tense and Sanford didn't like it- he saw that most of the soldiers were gathered on her right flank, and he had purposefully put himself between them and her by standing there.

Hancock kind of seemed indifferent to it all- maybe a bit agitated- but the only reason for that was because he wasn't able to get to the announcer box on the top level of Fenway's wall sections- it was the Mayor's office, and whenever they had shown up, Hancock had always demanded he be able to use the loudspeaker, at least once.

All kinds of things had flown out of his vocal amplifiers- one time he turned on the microphone just to scream out- 'BITCH CAKES!' -and the following visit there were still some of the children that lived here repeating it constantly as they played in the streets between the shanty buildings of Diamond's heart.

One of the parents got so angry that she threw a brick at the robot, and Sanford had laughed at it, and Hancock had made a vulgar comment to which the husband then became involved, and the whole thing was defused when the child in question cried out, of course- 'BITCH CAKES!' -and Hancock responded accordingly- 'BITCH CAKES! That's right, lieutenant! TAKE THAT, parental authority, my sprocket!'

...Sanford hadn't seen that couple, or that little girl again after that.

Maybe they moved south with the Minutemen. They all talked like truck drivers all the time, they'd fit right in.

 ** _CHSM-!_**

 ** _vvvvvVVVVVMMMMM-_**

-The gates creaked, rattled, dust flew off of them- the sound of a mechanical winch spiralling echoed throughout the gate chamber and into the street behind them- the two giant plates of bolted steel parted left and right, their frames bumping against the beginning rails of either staircase on either side when they fully parted.

Sanford squinted through the brief sunlight exposure on the other side- and he saw the sprawling beginnings of the shanty town that was built in the field's land- rows and rows of squat buildings constructed from metals and wood.

There were huts that had aluminum roofs that splayed out and hung like metal flowers- there were cloth overhangs that were connected by stake and post to act as shade over scrap porches, and over market stalls selling food, mechanical parts, or even reading material.

Christmas lights were hung in drawling lines over whole streets- tied on one building on the right, hung over the path to another building on the left- and there was red, blue, yellow, green, white, all kinds of festive colors.

-Sanford leaned over to glance past the shoulder of one of the soldiers ringing them- and next to the noodle place he had frequented a few times, right in the entrance plaza down there, he saw what looked like a little Christmas tree set up, with golden yellow lights.

...What month was it, anyway?

...Was it really Christmas? Or, WOULD it have been if this was before the war?

Sanford hadn't seen the folks of Diamond dishing out the holiday decor in... He didn't even know how long, maybe a year or two. Interesting.

"-Well if YOU think it's that much of an issue, my dear Captain, then let me see the problem and attempt to commun- OHLORD!"

-The voice of an elderly gentlemen was promptly cut short with a wheezing gasp of quickly intaken breath.

Sanford looked over to the soldier's flank he had been bypassing with his eyes- and standing there between him, and Liham on the other side, was a man with gray hair, wrinkly facial features, with a handle-like mustache under a long, inquiring nose.

Mayor Jompson, of Diamond City, held his chest with a quivering hand as his hazel eyes snapped up and down all over the towering height of the Deathclaw- he breathed heavily, so much, that the breast of his tan business coat rose and fell repeatedly.

An older man, lost in the past age- he had a white suit under the coat, red tie with yellow plad patterns on it, and he wore a prim, tan fedora over his gray haired cranium.

Sanford glanced between his now startled friend, and the simiarly startled mayor- before nodding, and speaking out with-

"-Mayor Jom', how are ya'?"

"-S-Sanford Tobs!" Jompson almost sounded like he was ridiculing. "-W-What is the meaning of THIS! I- I don't even- d-does this... this CREATURE, belong to you?"

The Deathclaw angled her head back- insulted -and Sanford nervously laughed.

"-A-Ahm, I don't... I don't OWN her, by a longshot, Jom', she's... WITH me, if that's what you're asking, uhm... You wanna' say hi or something? Break the ice, tootse'?"

"Bonjour'." She snorted at Sanford, and then bowed a bit at the Mayor- whose jaw flapped open when she spoke. "I haven't come here wishing harm on anyone."

"I can vouge for that," Brody said hurriedly by the side of one of the guards. "She and Sanford helped us fight Gunners not too far from here earlier today."

"Interesting how you worded it with- 'Helped' -militiaman." She scolded.

"Hey-hey, we're all on the same side here, yes? Come on, Mayor, haven't you ever seen an intelligent Deathclaw before? I told you the stories!" Robert smiled widely. "She's not a threat! Believe me, I know."

"-I oughta'-! -ROBERT D. CANNARY! I should've known you would have something to do with this!" Jompson broke his gaze from the Deathclaw and snapped it over to Robert, who kept grinning sheepishly in response.

"I know, Mr. Mayor, trouble finds me."

"YOU find the trouble, Cannary!" Jompson jabbed a finger- he was so angry that his whole face was turning red, and the fedora on his head was threatening to fall off. "-I don't believe this! You go off with the militia and come back with a squad of synthetic soldiers from the Institute itself, two brawling Deathclaws, one of which is the- f-friend? Guard dog? Whatever, of Sanford Tobs, AND, you brought two of your Minutemen compatriots WITH YOU! Unacceptable! This will NOT DO!"

"Look, Mayor Jompson," Brody spoke out, holding a hand up. "Me and Roe don't plan on staying, we just wanted to ensure our friend and ally, Sanford, and his traveling companions, were unharmed, he's helped us greatly."

"Jom'," This was Sanford again. "-The last thing I intended was to bring a fight to your doorstep, especially of the caliber it turned out to be, you know me, I would never DO something to put innocent people under fire. Me, Hancock, and Deathclaw here wiped out a group of Institute hired Synth Planters, and they were targeting a citizen in Diamond named Jess', who Robert helped us identify and find.

If we didn't kill those planters, and the synths that were called down to liquidate the operation, they would have murdered her, and replaced her with a synthetic duplicate, you know that threat as well as I do.

-The other Deathclaw, I mean, I don't know where he came from, he was probably drawn to the gunfire. I-I was very lucky... To have, my friend here, show up when she did, I might've been dead."

Jompson's face wasn't the only one relieved of some tension after that- the Deathclaw huffed noticeably- she looked conflicted.

Sanford looked at her once and then back at the Mayor.

"...I can't even begin to understand this calamity," Jompson sighed, looking the Deathclaw's face over a few times, crossing his arms. "D-Does it have a name?"

"NO, I do not have a name, old man." She sneered. "I also do not have appreciation for you referring to me like I'm some fucking dog."

"...I-I'll be right back-!" Jompson wheezed, wide-eyed.

The Mayor's shoes clacked against the concrete, echoed throughout the gate entrance area as he ran back between the ajar entry panels- Sanford heard some shouting.

His armor creaked as he did his best to stand on his 'Toes' of his boots- Sanford peered over some of the guard's shoulders- he saw people stopping dead center the plaza down there, outside, arms wide, stances reclined back- Jompson was walking around waving his hands, talking loudly.

Some of them must have started to see her in the doorframe with all of them.

"...Hey, um, Tobs?" Brody shouldered his way closer to Sanford, past some of the Diamond soldiers- he tipped his hat at the Deathclaw when she glanced over.

Sanford looked down at the shorter man- he noticed Roe sticking quite close behind her Corporal, and she had her eyes locked on the Deathclaw, who did her own very best to ignore the glaring militiaman.

"Corporal," Sanford greeted after a quick glance between their respective secondary party members. "What's the news?"

"-I didn't want to leave you there-" Brody kept it going, took the first opportunity he got- and Sanford rolled his eyes, held up a gauntlet.

"-What's done is done, I got it."

"-Look I just wanted to get the civvies' out of fire," Jim frowned. "I lost half of my men doing that, I didn't take falling back without you, lightly. But I wasn't about to see women and children dead for my sense of chivalry. Just let me say that."

"I appreciate that, Brody, but like I said- we're alright."

"Alright now."

"I'm almost wishing we had just started to walk back home," Sanford commented half to him, half to the Deathclaw. "If it was gonna' be this much of a problem."

"Well, ya' know, SIR," Hancock butted in. "It might not be a bad idea to introduce the population of ass-lickin' monkeys to Lizard-Bo-Fizard over here, for future reference! 'Cuase it would suck, IF THE BASTARDS SHOT AT US WHEN THEY SAW HER WITH US! HUH? YEAH! ALL OF YOU!"

-The robot started ranting at the Diamond soldiers- some of them glanced between each other.

"-I wouldn't shoot at Tobs no matta' WHAT was next to him, I trust 'im." A guard commented.

"Hey, thanks!" Sanford chuckled. "See Han'? You're screaming pointlessly again."

"NOTHING I DO IS POINTLESS, YOU SAP!" Hancock barked. "It's all part of a grand master plan for my badass, Commie' whackin' self! Everything I say and do builds up for the ULTIMATUM!"

"...Hancock, just shut up. It's very simple, just, SHUT. UP."

"I'LL RIP OUT YOUR SPLEEN AND MAKE YOU EAT IT!"

"Oooo, I'm scared, man."

"FUCKER!"

"-Tobs," Jompson was back- he was moving a few of his men out of the way, and was pointing for the gateway, leading to outside. "Come on, they'll believe it coming from YOUR mouth."

Sanford glanced at the Deathclaw, and then Hancock, and he saw Liham hanging out by the mouth of the gateway, looking in after him.

"You're good at public speaking, right, Mr. Sanford?" Robert smiled, patting the suit's pauldron with his synthetic palm.

"I guess." Sanford sighed. "This oughtta' be fun."

"REMEMBER, sir!" Hancock cried as Sanford trotted ahead. "When in doubt! Say UNDERWEAR as loud as humanly possible! You can't undo the logic of underwear! IT'S AN UNBEATABLE ARGUMENT! Just answer- UNDERWEAR!"

"Is that Hancock of yours screaming about someone's undergarments?" Mayor Jompson muttered as Sanford drew past him.

"Yep."

"Why is he doing that? Last time he was here, he was yelling about motor oil, what happened?"

"Han', happened."

"...Right. The folks are anxious to hear your story with this... Interesting, situation."

"I'm sure."

Sanford didn't quite know how to describe the feeling he was getting right now, it was a combination of anxiousness, a bit of fear, maybe- those were like the detailed little things that were in with a boatload of uncertainty.

He hated this feeling- it was a dumbed down variant of the feeling he got whenever his life was in jeapordy- which was a lot nowadays.

Jompson walked beside him as the two men stepped into the brighter light of the day- the angular shadow border of the confines of the gate entry lapped behind their heads to oblivion- and Sanford winced before the suit's helmet compensated for the abundant sunlight coming from above.

Right out of a storybook tale- they beat the bad guys, and then the sun came out.

Sanford's boots stopped their clanking against the steel, grated floor of the stadium's internal hold- they now transitioned for the dirt ramp that descended down into the main plaza of Diamond- and standing there in a great assortment of all different kinds of clothes, faces, figures, was a crowd of people, THE people.

Sanford stopped short at the height of the trail down- he looked across this group of maybe thirty, forty people? He didn't see how many exactly.

They wore a lot of pre-War clothes- salvaged stuff that was sewn and patched up, and they weren't matted with dirt and grime like half the people wandering the wastes were- there were men, women, some children- Sanford darted his eyes down at the kids for a bit, after all, it was amazing sight.

Where else in the wastes had he come across such an abundance of 'Family Life'?

Look at those little shits... By their parents' waists, by their grandparents' waists... There were parents and grandparents to even BEGIN with... Good ole' Diamond.

"I hope everyone, or, nearly everyone is in attendance!" Jompson clapped his hands together, standing ahead of Sanford a bit. "We have an important ISSUE, today, that we need to discuss, to avoid misunderstanding... ehm... S-Sanford?"

There was a period of silence.

Sanford swallowed and looked out across the group of people.

They were all looking at him- he recognized some of them in the crowd- the noodle shop owner, Billet, darker skinned fellow with this laugh that would make the coldest people smile- Sanford hadn't seen him in almost a year- he was leaned over the counter of his shop down in the center rear of the plaza.

Mary was down there- the little old lady that sold home made clocks and electronics- she had a look of concern on her features, she was by Tommy Velk, and Tommy was in his leather coat with his messy brown hair draping over his green eyes- he looked worried, after all, Sanford was a good friend to him.

Sanford had made friends with a lot of people in Diamond, he just was never here enough to really bond with them a lot.

So here they all were, waiting for him to start speaking.

"-Where'd you get the suit, Tobs?" Came out from the crowd, from a man.

Sanford smiled, chuckled in a cut-off bought of nervousness.

"Uhm," He supported his gauntlets on his hips, looking at his boots. "-Found it, awhile ago. I-It's still me, under here."

Sanford reached up and took the helmet off of his head- it hissed and decoupled, he magnetically stuck it to his hip, grinned cheaply at the crowd, now bare-headed, and waved.

"How are ya'?"

"Sanford, the issue, if you would?" Jompson smiled impatiently.

"Right, so me and Han' are here, you can see that," Sanford spoke a little louder so everyone could hear him- Diamond was so quiet, that his voice rebounded down the shanty rooftops of the scrap city in Fenway's whole heart. "...We got ambushed by a group of synthetics, from the Institute. Uhm, they were trying to kill a girl, and, replace her with another synth... You all know how much of a threat that is."

There was some murmuring.

"Who were they going after?" A woman asked.

"Me." Jess was somewhere in the crowd, and she raised her hand.

Like a mass of meercats- all the heads turned inwards, and focused on the wouldbe journalist for a moment.

"THAT would figure," Someone interjected loudly. "-Ms. Riold ALWAYS finds trouble! Just like that Cannary fella'!"

"Shut the hell up, Raj!" Jess snapped. "Don't you think there was ENOUGH fighting today?!"

"Settle down NOW." Jompson barked. "Sanford, please continue."

"Listen, bottom line, me, Hancock, and my friend, wiped the synths out before they could do something," Sanford held a hand out. "-The issue here isn't the Institute, we took care of that, and Diamond security has the body cleanup covered. The issue here is my friend that I'm talking about- some of you might have caught a glimpse of her in the gate..."

"I don't even know what I saw." -Came from the crowd.

"It didn't look human."

"We don't ACCEPT Mutants here!"

"-HEY! Watch yer' mouth, Ghouls bein 'present ya know?"

"-Keep your two-cents you freaking zom'!"

"JACK! How dare you!"

-"EE-NOUGH!" Jompson shouted. "All of you need to listen very carefully at this moment, because-"

"-All of you need to shut the hell up, because I have a Deathclaw with me! And she's friendly!" Sanford snapped.

...The whole crowd went silent.

Even Jompson went silent.

Sanford looked at the Mayor, the people, and then back over his shoulder.

...Nothing for a good moment.

Someone coughed.

"-For the love of God- TOOTSE'! Hey! Come out here! Townies' want ya'!" Sanford called.

"Are you certain this is a wise course of action? Just bringing the creature out here like that?" Jompson snapped out of it- asking.

"Do you have a better idea?"

-Tiny pats of her leathery heels against the dirt of the ramp started growing in volume behind the two of them- Sanford glanced over his pauldron and Jompson was backing off, arms clenching over his chest.

Negating the spotlight shown pit that formed in her stomach, fell to her feet and festered- the Deathclaw took a big intake of air, held it, and trot out into the sunlight, her eyes adjusting after a second, and revealing the dirt plaza that was FILLED with... Humans. People. The monkeys.

The Deathclaw stopped short just behind Sanford- she looked at him, and then peered over his shoulder- even though she was tall enough to see -and examined about the crowd of forty or fifty people- she saw jaws dropping, eyes getting bigger, parents gripping kids, older folk staring ahead with uncertainty.

If Sanford had thought it was quiet when he was talking before, now, it was DEAD quiet.

A mutated scavenger bird flew off the edge of the one of the shanty roofs towards the center of town- it was so silent that they heard it on the other side of Fenway.

 ** _fhwhwhwmm..._** -The fluttering of wings, a pair of black feathers left to orbit to the ground as a parting gift.

Sanford saw Billet down there behind the circular counter of his noodles shop- he had his hands on the other side's edge of the wood- his mouth was open, one brow higher than the other.

"...The hell...?" -The same Ghoul that had commented before was heard distantly in the group.

Sanford huffed, he stepped aside, revealing the Deathclaw fully- and he opened a hand for her.

"Diamond City, Deathclaw- Deathclaw, Diamond City." When she just blinked- frozen next to him -he smiled at her. "Might help if you talk to them."

"...Bonjour'...?" She said lightly, raising a palm and opening her fingers.

A few gasps riddled throughout the place.

How pathetic.

Or maybe Sanford and Hancock really WERE freaks and it was that shocking what had transpired.

"...I do not wish to bring harm to anyone?" She tried. "I'm with Sanford?"

"HA! See that monkeys?!" Hancock zipped out from the gate chamber behind them- the Deathclaw was looking up at the sky in dismay as the Mr. Gutsy levitated near her, jabbing a buzzsaw at her. "-She's a TAME Deathclaw! She talks, speaks western European-Voodoo-Shit, AND, she's POTTY TRAINED!"

"Sac de' merde'!" -She lashed out with the back of her hand- **_CLK!_** -and sent Hancock sprawling on the dirt, his mechanical limbs flying around.

"-MAN DOWN!" Came from the fallen robot. "SOMEONE CALL A MEDIVAC! I'LL MENACE YOU WITH A SHOEHORN, YOU GODZILLA-IMPERSONATING TEST-TUBE BABY!"

"-Maladie' mentale'..." The Deathclaw grumbled. "Monsieur', can I step on him?"

"I'd prefer you didn't." Sanford sighed. "We have our little defective family, but, she's a good person, Deathclaw or not, we've been traveling for around a month, I think I know."

-Mayor Jompson tore his gaze from Hancock's sprawl on the floor- he blinked at Sanford, looked down at the people of Diamond.

"...What do you think, Jom'?" Came somewhere from the crowd.

"-I think we and Sanford Tobs have relied on mutual trust and honor with each other for this long, and, the only thing either of us have done is benefitted from it," Jompson cleared his throat. "-If the creature, the Deathclaw, can partake in an activity such as... THIS..."

"-FUCKERS!-" -Hancock barked.

"-Then I don't see the threat. You... Wouldn't happen to have a name, would you?" Jompson stuttered, directing himself to the Deathclaw.

The reptile looked at him, looked at the crowd, and then looked at Sanford- who was smiling expectedly.

It had taken her this long, and with this many hardships just to find a place willing to accept her. And even though she was very upset with Sanford for what he had said, she understood the art of forgiving, he DID apologize, after all.

She sighed, and answered with-

"-You can call me Nyx."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	50. Chapter 49

**CHAPTER 49**

 **Emergence.**

* * *

Only in a world of radioactive wastes, mutated monsters, and people whose skin had fallen off- would the folks of Diamond City react the way they did to the Deathclaw being brought inside the stadium.

The crowd didn't really... DISPERSE, per say- even after the Mayor, Sanford, and her walked around the dirt plaza for a bit, just trying to acquaint her with being in these peoples' company, and likewise. She was looking around at everything whilst Sanford carted her about- she was intrigued by the hanging Christmas lights that draped over the street lanes unevenly, and in singles or tied clusters.

She kept finding her eyes glueing to the 'Tree' -that Sanford had called it, by the side of this store area in the rear center of the plaza- she was a bit annoyed at not being able to examine it, as, she didn't particularly care for socializing with the people around this little city.

She wanted a peaceful coexistence- pleasentries between her and humans hadn't existed before Sanford, and she actively did not see it expanding any more than that for herself- thus she was perfectly comfortable with the prior and nothing more.

But Sanford insisted.

"Don't you think if they interact with you a bit, they might be a bit more comfortable?"

"Non." She admitted honestly."I do not. Look at me, Sanford, this, does not match with humans."

"You matched with me." He smirked over his pauldron as they strolled down the side of the plaza- peering in at some of the shopping stands and the fearful appearing owners.

She glanced down at him, flexed her jaws so her teeth would grind- and then looked down at the dirt of Fenway's ground level- she tried to ignore the fact that half of the Diamond security force was practically orbiting around them at all times.

They trusted Sanford, that was why she was IN the city to begin with- anyone else, and they would've shot her without question.

But it was Sanford, the guy who had helped Diamond and several people in it out of many sticky situations- the guy who had saved people, helped the miltia, who, even though Diamond was tenuous with- they respected greatly.

On that, Brody and Roe had left shortly after it was obvious no fighting was about to break out- but according to Liham, they still had five guys from the Minutemen in Diamond's clinic towards the east of the stadium yard, wounded by the Gunners he and his companions had wiped out.

The soldiers loyal to Fenway's protection were on a sort of extra duty- the same amount of guys had never really left the plaza at any point- they hung in the backdrop, by the sides of storefronts, or in alleys, and all of them watched her like hawks.

Sanford made it a point to again put himself between her and the line of sight the guards all had on her- so as they strolled down the fronts of the lined up scrap shacks, the wooden buildings with their opened fronts lined with stalls- it was the Deathclaw who was observing all the goods, not Sanford.

The crowds hadn't really dispersed either- at least, all the YOUNG people.

Sanford noticed a lot of the people from the initial convene had just walked down to the mouths of the street lanes connecting the plaza to the deeper sections of Fenway's middle- and then they stood there, bickering with each other in groups of five or six, looking into the plaza from afar, at him and her.

Sanford's armor made a whining sound towards the knee joint of his left leg everytime he took a step- it was only loud enough to be noticeable to him- so after a bit he blink activated some integrity scans in his helm's HUD.

While those ran, he noticed he had outwalked the Deathclaw by a few steps- he saw her looking under the cloth roof of one of the stands- and inside was a young man- he had tan skin, bulky lips, black stubble on his chin all the way up to his ears in a hairy curve along his jawline.

He was wearing a baseball cap for the late Red Sox- and he had brown eyes, and they were wide as this massive reptile stalked out from the side of his vision, and overtook everything in front of his stand with her large size.

"-H-Hi-!" He said louder than needed- growing stiff as a board. "-W-Whatever you want- TAKE IT, on the house!"

"Am I really that intimidating, etrangere'?" She sighed, blinking with disinterest at a small assortment of handheld items on the wooden top of the stand's counter.

The man was quaking so hard that he couldn't muster a response.

All of the items he had here were electronics parts- a lot of stuff for radios or communication equipment- he had an old RobCo Tube Tester and a box of pretty decently conditioned Sylvania brand tubes, a few Hytron ones too- nice selection if you needed the parts.

"Fixing a radio, girl?" Sanford laughed, peering over her one arm as he stood beside her and examined all the tubes.

"Non'. Browsing, Je ne sais' pas'." She shrugged.

Both of them looked up at the stand's owner, who was still quivering behind the counter- he wasn't even looking at her directly anymore, he just stared straight ahead, praying they would leave.

"You look like you're about to shit yourself, man." Sanford cocked his head.

"-S-SORRY." The guy blinked. "I'M SORRY."

"Ugh, c'mon, before he keels over."

"Sur'." She snorted- insulted, even though she knew she didn't have a right to be.

They trailed away from that stall, and Sanford pointed at the noodle place in the center of the square- he noted how the small crowd that was circling around the plaza, as it usually did, was completely bare in the immediate vicinity of where they stood- though interestingly, there were some folk who didn't seem to care.

There was a Ghoul that literally walked right past the two of them as they turned around- he was a rough appearing fellow, he wore a black hoody sweatshirt, the hood lowered, his bare head with its disfigured skin completely visible- Sanford noticed a crucifix chain hung over his neck and over the breast of the sweatshirt.

Some people, he figured, had seen it all- maybe a Deathclaw browsing stalls in Diamond was pretty tame.

Huh.

"You wanna' try a bowl of noodles?"

"-'Noo-Dals'? That sounds like a disease."

"You don't know what noodles are?"

"I always referred to them as pasta," She said. "What makes these special?"

"It's raman," Sanford grinned. "Asian dish, I've heard. It was banned in the U.S. a little before the bombs fell, but, looks like it's come back after all this time."

"You sound surprised, Sanford, I thought you knew this place." She pointed out as they strolled over.

"I do. I've been here several times," Sanford nodded. "I still think it's amazing, especially with the guy running it."

"Who owns this place?"

"Billet."

"Who is 'Billet'?"

"Quiet guy, not the judging type- he shouldn't have a problem with you."

"That's awfully confident of you to say."

"Hey, listen," Sanford admonished. "There was a Super Mutant that traded some stuff in this market a few years back, and I tell you, he left with at least three bowls of Billet's raman in his gut, just like every other good natured visitor here."

"A MUTANT?" She blinked. "They're on par with dogs, Sanford."

"A lot of people would say the same for Deathclaws."

"...Touche'."

"What is that French for?"

"You don't understand the slang of 'Touche'?" She hummed, amused.

"No-no, I get that. But what about literal translation?"

"It's a term used in fencing, with blades, monsieur'."

"Oh. I knew that."

"Mm."

She was looking more at the little lit up Christmas tree that was by the half-circular stand's flank as they neared the edge of an oak counter- polished cleanly, despite having been torn from another wing inside the stadium structure itself years and years ago.

There was an open overhang that acted like a sort of hollow shack right behind the counter, there were cooking ovens with stoves gridded with bubbling pots, countertop frying stations with grate dishes sunk in bubbling oil- the WHOLE place sounded like it was bubbling.

The Deathclaw noted as Sanford leaned his gauntlets on the edge of the wood- that the whole counter creaked.

A pair of people, a young man and woman, both abandoned their seats nearby on swivel bar chairs lining the stand's front- they vanished into the crowd when they saw her and Sanford- taking their noodle cups with them.

She sighed.

"Billet, how are ya'?" Sanford smiled- raising a gauntlet as a darker skinned, burly man stepped up behind the counter.

She looked down at this newcomer, the proprietor of the little business here- she smiled, making an effort to not use her teeth- and Billet blinked stupidly, before smiling back at her.

Billet nodded, grunted at Sanford.

She cocked her head at the lack of speech- she glanced at Sanford curiously when he started ordering.

"Just a small cup, Billet, for my friend here."

Billet smiled, nodded again, nodded at her, grunted, and then went into the back where he tended one of the many bubbling pots.

Sanford watched the man cook in deep thought, he glanced at the bar stools nearby, shifted in his Power Armor, looked at her and remembered that both of them would've probably snapped them in half.

He hated standing.

"...Why doesn't he talk, monsieur'?" She mumbled, leaning over to him, and eyeing Billet's back- the plad red shirt he wore highlighted at the front with a white apron over his chest and belly- he was a big guy, looked tough.

But throughout all that toughness, he roughly hummed some old tune to himself as his arms worked back-forth, here-there, he had a small foam cup of stringy noodles ready in mere seconds- and steam rose from the top of the container on the metal counter inside.

"He had a stroke, he can't talk." Sanford stated. "I've never heard him talk before."

"A stroke?"

"Yep. Fifteen years ago, if you want to believe Liham, the Captain before," Sanford nodded. "Few years before I ever showed up. But he's a good guy, quiet. I feel bad for him... But, um... Hey, he makes good noodles."

Billet stepped over and put the cup on the counter, with a plastic fork's handle sticking from its contents- smiling at the two of them.

Sanford dug into his rucksack for the caps- but Billet held his hands up and waved him away, shaking his head- he grunted.

The Deathclaw observed Sanford freeze with his gauntlet still in his rucksack- he dug a bit more, retracted, brought his hand up to the counter, opened it, and put down a small wad of ten caps anyway.

"See you around, Billet." Sanford nodded- taking the cup.

The Deathclaw bowed her head, and the two turned away.

She was impressed how the man hadn't even flinched to her presence. She felt bad when it looked like he was about to cry when Sanford put the caps into it despite protest.

"Alright, so here's how this works," Sanford chuckled, twirling the handle of the fork, gathering up some lengths- steam was frothing up- he liked the smell, reminded him of when he was a kid. "You twist the fork to wrap the noodles on it, and you eat it over the cup."

"I'll reason with it, Sanford." She rolled her eyes playfully, reached over and took the cup in a light pinch between three of her fingers- he watched, impressed, as she pinched the handle of the fork between her other two digits.

It was funny, watching the large reptile work these little wares meant for slightly smaller humans.

"You've gotten much better at handling things." Sanford noted as she sniffed at the interior of the cup- looking up at some of the lights hanging between the buildings over the plaza. "You like the Christmas lights?"

"THAT'S what those are..." She sighed. "I suppose."

"I haven't seen them up in years."

"I like their tree."

"Christmas tree. We used to set them up in houses across the country, families and all that, would decorate with them with ornaments, lights..."

"Ornaments, monsieur'?" She dragged the fork out from the tip of her snout- snorting at how hot the noodles were, but other than that, it didn't seem to bother her.

"Yeah, colored spheres, candy canes, glass stuff... I miss Christmas."

"We have it here, au moins'."

"What was the last part?"

"-'At least'- monsieur'." She responded between bites.

Sanford watched the cup gradually become empty- and she drained the broth out with a quick tip over her ajar maw- there were some people in the stands that leant out and watched her eat the raman in a sort of fascinated wonder.

He smiled as she handed him the empty thing and the fork- taking it in his grip, he laughed at her.

"You like that stuff?"

"Mm."

"Raman, and Salisbury," He shook his head. "I can't figure you out, girl."

"What's wrong with those?" She hummed as they trotted towards the lane into the deeper sections of the town at the left.

"Nothing." He stated. "It's just interesting, a Deathclaw liking those things."

"Mm."

"...So... Nyx, huh?"

"Mmhm."

"I'll try to keep it in memory, I just... I've become so used to calling you- 'Ms. Angrypants'," Sanford joked. "It'll be awfully hard to break that habit."

"Vous me' torturez'." She harumphed.

"What does that mean?"

"Torturer."

"Nah, that's Han's job... And... Where exactly did he go...?"

 ** _chsk-CCSSSEEEEEMMMMMMM_** -

-A blare of broadcasted static, whining audio equipment, Sanford slouched his shoulders and looked up at the far top of the northern walls of Fenway in dismay.

"...Oh Christ, he found the microphone." He grumbled.

"Could this prove problematic, monsieur'?" She muttered.

"No. Just annoying."

 ** _-CCHSMMM- CKM_**

 ** _CM_**

 ** _CM_**

 ** _-...bmbmbm..._**

 ** _bm..._**

 ** _bm_**

 _-"-AHEM! H-HELLO? Hello, monkeys?! This thing on?! PERFECT! This is General Hancock! Forefather of the great Patton and Montgomery- 'cause they got their anti-Commie' badassness from ME! Ha! -Anyway quick message today-"_

-There was a pause.

" _-...BITCH CAKES!... HA! Ha-ha! HA-HA! AH-HA! YEEAAAHHH! TAKE THAT, AUTHORITY! STICK IT TO THE MAN! U.S.A.! U.S.A! U.S.A! United States for the bitch cakes! HA! ...That'll be all._ "

- ** _cshk- CCSSSSSSEEMMMMM_**

 ** _CHM._**

A few people gave Sanford nasty looks.

He was too busy laughing to really care.

"...Jesus CHRIST what an asshole!" Sanford bawled. "Ha-ha-HA! Oh man... Just- Ha!"

"Certainly a unique one, the usiner." She grinned. "He's harmless to these people."

"Han's a good guy," Sanford agreed. "He's out of his God-damned motherboard, but, he's a good guy."

"A robot?"

"...I think, there is some pretty life-like shit going on there," Sanford said. "He's alive to me."

"I wasn't disagreeing."

"I know."

"...You still have some blood on your... HANDS, monsieur'."

Sanford looked down at his gauntlets after he tossed the cup into a wrought iron waste basket nearby.

They still had drawling spatters of dried crimson from what he had done to the other Deathclaw.

"...I'll have to clean them when we get home." He grumbled.

-"HEY! Check this out!" -Came a smaller voice from the street nearby.

Running between two shacks was a group of... Children. A rare thing today.

There were four of them, they couldn't have been older than five, younger than eight- they were dressed in the stitched-up commons of pre-War clothes most of the people in Diamond wore- three boys and little girl.

Two of the boys had brown hair, one had blonde, the girl had black- they were all cute little innocent things- a far cry from what happened outside of Fenway every day.

"Afternoon, Mr. Tobs!" One of the boys greeted when the four of them stopped by his ankles. "Where'd you get the suit?"

"It looks wicked!" The girl added.

"-Hey guys, uhm... I found it, believe it or not." Sanford smiled. "-Uhm, Nyx, this is, uhm..."

Sanford stepped aside to reveal his Deathclaw a bit- who, now, had her yellow eyes fixated on these four tiny people before her- because, as she looked them over, they simply fascinated her.

These were human young... Children, babies. She had never seen any before in her life.

"Alex!"

"Neil."

"Stacy."

"Kyle."

-All of them greeted her without so much as a blink.

The innocence and naivety of children could overlook the appearance of a Deathclaw.

What anomalies the world worked in today.

"-B-Bonjour'." She opened a hand.

"You have an accent!" Stacy observed excitedly. "Is it Belgium?"

"-F-French." The Deathclaw interlaced her fingers at her belly- she looked at Sanford for help, who was completely fine with letting her sort it out on her own. "-Last I read, Belgians spoke French too."

"Really?!" Kyle cried. "Wow."

"Can I pet you?" Neil asked.

"Ahm," The Deathclaw took a step back- she was actually pretty uncomfortable. "-I-I would prefer to not be- 'Pet'."

"Awwwww..." Neil frowned.

"Can I ride on your shoulder?" Stacy asked.

"...W-Well... I..."

"-Hey, Nyx," Sanford nudged her from the side. "It might look good if the kids can't get enough of you. Just saying."

"...I'm not sure... monsieur'."

"You can handle me without hurting me," Sanford said. "You'll be fine, give the girl a boost."

"Yeah! Mr. Tobs got boring after awhile!" Stacy laughed.

"Hey! I gave good 'Whoosh Boosts'!" Sanford defended jokingly. "Have fun with Nyx, I'm gonna' go talk to someone."

"-Have FUN-?! You're LEAVING me here?!" The Deathclaw moaned.

Sanford had already vanished down another lane.

Nyx hung her hands in the air, draped them and huffed- she looked down at the little creatures by her feet- she saw Neil looking at her taloned toes in wonder.

...They were cute.

"Can I ride on your shoulder too?!" Kyle asked excitedly- hopping around down there. "It'll be so cool! Like riding a dragon that can talk!"

"...O-Okay. Okay, here, hop on my hand." She bent down and offered up her open palm- laying it flat on the ground before Stacy.

The little girl's tiny sock-covered feet were with the weight of a feather on the Deathclaw's hand- Stacy balanced herself by gripping at the thumb and pinky- and she smiled, giddy, as Nyx lifted her arm, and subsequently the child, into the air.

The reptile brought her palm to her left shoulder- and Stacy clambered about with the stamina and agility of a small monkey- she was on her scaly flank, and she sat there, and leaned an elbow on her horn for a minute.

"Thank you!" She said politely. "This is so COOL! Kyle! You gotta' try it!"

"Yeah-yeah!" Kyle held his hands up.

"Can I come too?" Neil asked quietly.

The Deathclaw's tail arced behind her a few times- she was practically purring.

"Of course, here, on my palm."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Sanford didn't have to go far into the streets of Diamond to find the building he was searching for.

Nestled in an alleyway, of sorts, from the wider, more traversed dirt lanes was a squat, one story shack that was rectangular in shape, and had light streaming in through one square porthole that was covered with a tan curtain inside.

The red door was shut, and above it, right after the top of the frame, was a glowing set of green letters- reading- ' _Detective Cannary_ ' -the 'E' in 'Detective' was flickering, and going out. Sanford could see it was homemade, the sign and all.

He had never visited the office of the detective that had persisted in Diamond for as long as he had been a frequenter of its streets- and he had never actually met Robert in person before today- but it was interesting to him, a little disturbing- that it took this long to meet a guy who was in walking distance the whole time.

The path that Rob's office was on was a little darker because of some taller structures nearby that shrouded the little lane in shadows- and since the sun was actually starting to go down, it didn't improve the lighting.

A single streetlamp- an electric lantern hung from a post jutting from the wall nearby the window of Robert's building, provided the only real bulb of amber brightness.

The armor creaked as he stepped up the two wooden steps before the door- he wrapped his knuckles three times, and the whole structure rattled from the weight of his armored gauntlet. Sanford cringed, and waited patiently.

The doorhandle squeaked, the door lurched and light from inside the building scythed out into the dark street- now forming a humanoid shadow of Sanford's form on the dirt behind him.

Robert stood there, his hood down, his coat taken off to reveal a patched-up hoody over his torso- he smiled with those synthetic plates making up most of his face, and his icy blue eyes flared brighter.

"Mr. Sanford! How unexpected! Come in- come in!" Robert stepped inside, holding the door- and Sanford muttered a thanks, ducking inside the frame, and standing in the center of a small, cramped little lobby.

Robert shut the door- and some papers on the floor fluttered from the motion.

"Oo-! Apologies, brother- I'm a bit of a messy housekeeper." Robert tsked to the stray documents and notes that littered the lobby's gray floor.

"No problem, Rob'." Sanford smirked. "I'm not expected? After all that? I was wondering where you went."

"-Well as you can see, friend," Robert ushered him to the left, through another arch, into an office- where a wooden desk was towards the rear wall, strewn with a small mound of papers over its top- there was a laptop monitor half-submerged in documents, a number of those cheap little audio record devices stacked on the edge of the right top. "-I'm not exactly a social butterfly, if you will."

"Neither am I." Sanford said awkwardly. "Bogged with work or something?"

"Pardon? Oh! No-no-no, NO, no..." Robert laughed- wheeling an office chair from the lobby, and placing it behind his guest- the chair had a whirlwind of feather-like debris following across the floor in its wake as the wheels rattled against the tile.

Sanford stepped off to the side- Robert was behind his desk again, fidgety- the bionic man watched in fascination as the back of Sanford's suit literally 'Folded' open, and the spinal plate just behind the helm, the holder of the suit's core- bumped against the ceiling with barely enough room to accomodate it.

The real human beneath the armor kicked his ankles and came around from the X-01's side- he was cringing at the stretching of his muscles- he nodded at Robert.

"Weird moment when you see someone out of the war gear, right?"

"Indubitably." Robert laughed. "You look smaller!"

"Yeah-yeah, Power Armor does that."

"Mr. Sanford, we never had a moment for proper introduction, you know," Robert held a white, synthetic hand over the desk, and Sanford gripped it briefly, shook it down once. "Robert D. Cannary, detective, journalist, reporter, trouble maker."

"Sanford Tobs, scavenger."

"That's IT?" Robert gasped. "Where's all your fancy titles, brother?"

"'Don't have any."

"That's just a shame, Mr. Sanford. You should make some up for yourself!"

"I'll feel like an ego-maniac doing that." Sanford leaned back into the black office chair- it squeaked when he settled into it, supporting his arms on the sides.

"I believe, that the man who sees absolutely no importance in himself, is cowed but bettered by the man who sees a slight stroking of his ego." Robert chuckled, sitting in another swivel behind his desk.

"I accept that logic."

"What can I do for you, brother?"

"Thought I'd stop by, meet the crazy detective who almost got shot with me."

"Quite the trip, I'll hand you that!"

"So this is your office, Rob'?"

"The ugly sin that it is, indeed." Robert looked at the curtain rod hanging the drapery over the office window to the side. "I need new curtains!"

"Pretty decent for a war-torn world, though, you gotta' admit."

"Pretty close, pretty close."

"To?"

"The real deal, brother! Old lifestyle! The things people long for and never really achieve, the stuff that's not so good for a happy moment," Robert sighed. "-Ah, I'm ranting, mind it not."

"I've been coming here, to this city for so long, and I never met you before."

"I've certainly heard of you though, Mr. Sanford."

"Likewise."

"They say you're over two-hundred years old. Now my question is, how is a little something like THAT, a reality, hmm?"

"I went into a Vault when the bombs dropped, they froze me in a pod, I got out of the pod a decade ago," Sanford stated flatly. "-Never found my family, and everyone else was a skeleton."

"Your family? Goodness, it seems everyone in this blasted sandy place has lost someone, Mr. Sanford. They were just...?"

"-Gone. No bodies, no traces, nothing." Sanford shrugged. "It doesn't matter now."

"I for one won't beat a dead horse," Robert reassured. "You've heard it a million times, I'm sure- but, my condolences."

"No actually, you're the first person who has ever offered any." Sanford grinned. "I've gotten a few -'I'm sorry's'-, but nothin' much after that."

Robert didn't know how to respond to that.

"Tell me about yourself, Mr. Sanford, it's not often I have such guests as yourself in here- it gets awfully boring, and I have so many papers- and since Jess' doesn't really want to have a lot to do with me, I try to find interesting people, and-"

...Sanford was smiling patiently.

Robert flexed his fingers on the edges of the desk, and nodded.

"-RIGHT, so, YES. Y-You must have stories, Mr. Sanford."

"I have a lot of stories."

"Do tell!"

"None of them are very nice."

"...Okay, I won't press for details- even though it's my JOB to press for details right? HA! -If not stories, then what?"

"I dunno', Rob'," Sanford sighed. "I've seen the Commonwealth front to back, just like you. Man, you've been OUTSIDE Boston, what could you possibly want to hear from me?"

"You showed up at my office though, brother." Robert noted. "I'm trying for small talk. Something I believe I was never so skilled at myself."

"Join the club," Sanford angled his lips. "How long have you lived here?"

"In Diamond, right?"

"Yep."

"Good old Fenway... I've called it home for eight years. Do you- not to ask personal questions -do you remember what it looked like? Before the war?"

"Yeah."

"Do tell."

"It was really crowded, thousands of people, crossing guards, car horns, passenger jets roaring overhead. Big groups of people with suitcases leaving the subway tunnel nearby..." Sanford recollected. "...Rob', be grateful you weren't here to see that only to still be here today. It leaves an emptiness in you."

"Mr. Sanford, I can't see it that way, I would do a lot to see Fenway, the WORLD for what it used to be," Robert smiled. "Some Ghouls around here were alive for that. Most of them left though before I could ask them, but, but Mill is still here! You know Mill? Quiet guy by the plaza, always has a crucifix even though he's an aethiest!"

"He sounds eccentric."

"-Very! Very, very. I asked him- 'What was Fenway like?' -and he said to me- 'Bother someone else, Cannary'- two times in a row I tell you!"

"Some people just want to be left alone, I guess," Sanford shrugged. "I couldn't imagine living out all two-hundred of those years, must be hard, harder than I could picture."

"Indeed, indeed... But, man has persisted even in the most dire of times."

"You sound like my father."

"Do tell."

"Veteran of the U.S. Army, he served in Alaska, and then Japan," Sanford said. "He came home from a garrison in Anchorage when I was three, I had never met him before. They occupied Canada when I was six, and China invaded when I was seven, pa' left for two years, drove the Reds from Anchorage, won so many medals that I couldn't count them all..."

"He sounds brave."

"He was unstoppable," Sanford nodded. "I was too young to understand that. They occupied Canada, and he covered it up from my life... He went off to fight in Japan, and he covered it up from my life, and... Then he came home, and the bombs dropped a few years later."

"Was your father an infantryman?"

"Yeah, he was."

"I never knew my father, Mr. Sanford."

"Why?"

"He was never there," Robert shrugged. "I had my mom for awhile- and, striking woman, TOUGH woman, I loved her to death! She passed away when I was young, we lived in the south for a good while, I buried her there, I took up shop with the militia when they rose up, and I traveled north on a few excursions, found Diamond, liked it, and I set up and I said- 'This is it! Home!' -and here I am."

"When did you pick up detective work?"

"I'd taken interest in the art of investigation since I was a boy!" Robert proclaimed. "Forensics, criminal science, information tracking, identification numbers and names... My goodness, Mr. Sanford, I couldn't get enough. I started taking jobs all over Diamond and I actually SOLVED them, I was so proud of myself."

"And then?"

"The militia asked me over and over and over for my skills across Boston and even beyond. I acted as a 'Spy' if you will."

"Who'd you spy on?"

"WELL, now, Brody and the other officers would be mighty upset if I told ANYONE of such conundrums," Robert held his hands up. "-T'is settled and no one was hurt, thus, I am happy, and everyone else should be too."

"...You spied on the Brotherhood, didn't you?" Sanford smiled.

"-Ah! Mr. Sanford, I have, some... fine... ALE! Yes, here we are!"

Robert came back after sliding a bottom drawer in his desk back- he held a half-drained bottle of rum, the black label faded, torn in places, and the golden letters unreadable.

Two small glasses were placed on the desk's top next to it- and Cannary gestured to the three items.

"Care to join me for a drink? Celebratory, of course."

"Rum? I dunno' if I'll hold it, but... Sure, why the hell not."

"Half a glass, then?"

"Quarter."

"Will do."

-Robert set the bottle down, offered the slimly filled glass over the desk, and Sanford took it, clinked the top tip with the detective's higher brew- they sat back, and drained the contents with two tips of their heads.

Sanford coughed, and bunched his fist over his mouth.

"-Oh CHRIST," He gagged. "-That's strong shit."

"Can't take the oldie's, eh, brother?" Robert smiled. "-Don't worry a hair on your head, Mr. Sanford, the only reason I'm not choking right now is because of all these bionics! Ha!"

"Tell me about those." Sanford put the glass on the desk. "The bionics, you said you didn't want them when you got them?"

"Ugly, ugly story that one," Robert poured himself another cup. "More rum?"

"Nah."

"Right, right."

"The bionics?"

"-I took a shot in the face, I got sloppy in my hour of need, consulted aid from an unknown source and an unknown man, and they didn't just replace my jawbone, IF, you know what I mean."

"What happened?"

"WHOLE team of professional surgeons! Swept in! Drugged me! Turned me into the D. Cannary you see before you, brother." Robert chuckled. "-I can't say I HATE them for it, but, ah..."

"...But you hate them?"

"...With every ounce of my being, I wish everyday, in the back of my circuit riddled mind, that I could find them and at least, if nothing else, ask them- 'Why? Why'd you turn me into a damned android?'- I'd be most appreciative to hear an honest answer to that."

"What do you think they'd say?"

"...Mighty excellent question, for the question, that one."

"I ask myself about my parents all the time."

"Are these the relatives you mentioned before?"

"Yeah."

"Do tell."

"I ask what they would say, if they could see me now."

"And, Mr. Sanford? What do you think they would say?"

"That's a good question..."

"-For the already asked question?"

"Yep."

"We think mighty alike, Mr. Sanford. Mighty alike."

Both men laughed.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	51. Chapter 50

**CHAPTER 50**

 **Roller Coaster Feels.**

* * *

Nighttime had started to fall over the place by the time Sanford willed himself to start moving again.

All he had wanted to do after today was sit down and close his eyes- and at least he had afforded himself the first liberty of his wants- as he had sat in Robert's office for close to two whole hours before he finally departed.

Robert was a pretty good guy, in his opinion- they told each other some of the stories, and Sanford had opened himself up to it only after Robert had shared a few first- and, while Robert's were mostly funny, there were some that were pretty powerful.

"I met a woman near Boston harbor, found her in one of the old ship wrecks- it was interesting find indeed, and I suppose she sort of found ME instead..."

"How's that?" Sanford asked.

"Ah, she shot at me."

"Why?"

"-She saw me coming up onto her little makeshift home, and didn't even offer the liberty of a warning, before blasting away at me with a gun I'd never seen before. It fired railroad track spikes! Have you ever HEARD of such a calamity?"

"I found one of those once, in a warehouse."

"Do tell."

"It was broken, I took it anyway, I think... I think I might still have it somewhere at home."

"This Gas Station you've mentioned?"

"Yep."

"One day, Mr. Sanford, you'll need to show me this fortress of yours."

"Yeah, at some point."

"...Would you look at that."

-Robert had heard a small disturbance- leaned back in his chair, and had shifted the ugly, tan curtains over his window aside- and out there in the shady street, was a seven-foot tall titan, that had a small swarm of smaller beings around it.

Robert laughed, and Sanford stood up, rounded the desk, and peered over his shoulder.

The Deathclaw was out there, smiling, laughing with a small group of kids- there had to be eight of them all over her now- they were calling out to her, there were three or four on her shoulders at any given time- they kicked their legs over the sides of her broad flanks, held onto her horns, or her neck. Wonderful sight.

"I can't believe how beautiful, and strange, that is at the same time."

"That's my Deathclaw." Sanford smiled. "She has a good heart."

"Undoubted, at this point, Mr. Sanford."

"...Alright Rob', good talk."

"Best talk in ages, friend! Truly." They reclined back, shook hands, and Sanford started to get into his suit.

The big red door opened and out into the night was the armored man- the suit dark against the shade of the dusk sky above- Sanford looked up for a moment to see dark blues, hints of orange towards the south- stringing black clouds.

"Do come back again, pleasentries or for help, either or." Robert said from the doorframe.

Sanford turned and nodded at him.

"'Night, Rob'."

"Fair night, Mr. Sanford."

-He heard the door shut behind him as he trekked off down the street, towards where he saw his Deathclaw vanish off to.

A few soldiers were walking around, but the majority of the crowding was now by the plaza again- but this time, from the sheer volume of voices and laughter that echoed out into the night, Sanford was lead to believe that most of the city was down there.

In the darkness that encompassed most of the rooftops and overhead of the rows and rows of shacks and shanty structures- Sanford saw a faint bulb of orange blooming in the backdrop, towards the entry to the city.

The Mayor must have helped to plan something for all the Christmas decor set up, maybe this was the party- or they were celebrating something, Sanford considered the thought in the back of his mind, and he actively hoped it wasn't over him.

All he did was shoot a few synths outside the walls, and... People were treating it like he had saved the whole place.

The only reason those synths had shown up was because of him in the first place.

...But, if he hadn't stopped the planters then... What would the results be if another synthetic killer infiltrated Diamond? One of the most populous zones in Boston nowadays?

Sanford grumbled as he walked in the dark of the street.

Best not to think about it, Robert had said that when they were talking. Best to just forget it happened, look at the bright side and see the fact that they stopped something terrible from occuring. There it was.

"Hey." -Came from one of the nearby scrap walls.

Sanford stopped short and peered into the darker shade of the shack drawing out to his right- he saw someone leaned up against the wall, playing with a flip-lighter, that illuminated the collar of a black, leather coat- with a plain old white shirt underneath it revealed by the parting top button.

Her black hair looked like smoke in the darkness- and Sanford realized he hadn't put his helmet back on for the filters to work out here.

"Do I know you?" Sanford grinned, turning to face the shorter figure.

"You saved me, remember?" Jess smirked. "C'mon, how'd you forget THAT quick, titan-guy."

"-Oh, sorry, I didn't recognize you in the dark." Sanford chuckled. "Jess."

"Sanford Tobs, we haven't met before this, eh?"

"No. Neither have me and Robert."

"That's not surprising," She scoffed. "He's a recluse."

"...I've gathered so far that the two of you don't get along."

"-Putting it lightly."

"Sure."

"Folks are having a drinking hour again," Jess nodded for down the street, towards the plaza. "-You're going to a party in a battle suit?"

"I wasn't planning on staying."

"Why not?"

"It's not my place here."

"-I was kidnapped by some fat, smelly thugs, and almost replaced with an android, and the guy who prevented that is right in front me," She got off the wall and smiled up at him. "Drop the armor at my office, take a girl out on the town, why don'tchya'?"

"...Uhm, I-I-I mean... S-Sure, I-"

"C'mon, I'll take you there."

"...S-Sure."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Throughout her entire life traversing the world wrought unto the stuff of mystery, destruction, and barren nothingness by the insolence of human kind- she had never found another living thing that she just idly... PLAYED, with.

She had found subjects for good discussion among her own kind, friends even- she had found security, not nessecarily happiness there, but never once during the birth and destruction of her home did she find another living thing to just have fun with to simply have fun.

There were no simplicities- it was all overcomplicated, stringy messes that tied in with who she felt for, who she wished would get stuck in a ditch, how she felt sorry for herself and all of her kind and how she despised other people- not just humans -for a good part of her childhood, her baby years.

She had been tossed into the blood, the sweat, the fear and the nothingness as a child, as a baby- and yet she had never seen another living thing, a person, of similar age and mindset- another child.

The years kept rolling by, she learned things, about herself, about the world around her- when she emerged into the realm of older thinking, and the things she had seen had morphed together to influence her behavior through experience- it was quickened by the lack of sociality.

As a youngling she never had anyone, and as an adult, her relations with her pack were fickle- and they were gone by the time she was beginning to live her days on a brighter notion.

There had been no hatchlings of her kind in the pack, and throughout the whole Wasteland, she had never interacted with humans, and thus, she had never seen a child of any kind in her life up until this point.

There was a bit of a matriarchal sense, a sense of feminine pride that she experienced being around these laughing, happy, curious little people- that hopped and climbed and grabbed all over her- they took turns riding on her shoulders, some of them tried to hold individual fingers instead of her whole claw.

The group had grown to nearly ten by the time they started dispersing to go home- or worried parents walked over and demanded they 'Get away from that... DEATHCLAW.' -in an instant.

She let them all go, albeit a bit sadly- one by one, she'd smile at them, making sure not to use her teeth- she'd just curl her chops upwards, wave them off.

Neil and Kyle were gone, so was Alex- all that was left after a bit was Stacy, the black haired little girl that was still on her shoulder. Two other girls had just finished climbing off by the Deathclaw's foot- and they vanished around the bend of a nearby building.

"How long have you been with Sanford?" The girl was full of questions- according to Sanford, for the few times she'd asked about children- that was pretty normal for someone her age.

"A month." The Deathclaw hummed- glancing sideways at her flank. She looked quite content with the girl.

"A month! That's cool."

"Indeed it is, petite' fille'."

"What's that mean?"

"It means- 'Little Girl'- in French."

"How do you know French anyway?"

"...I always have, I'm not sure."

"That's weird!"

"Mmhmhm." Nyx mused. "You should be heading home, shouldn't you?"

"OOHHHH fffffiiiiinnneee..." Stacy groaned as the Deathclaw held out her palm, and she climbed onto it.

"If me and Sanford come back, you can find me again." The Deathclaw smiled- watching the small girl stand down there, looking up at her.

"That'll be cool!"

"Oui'."

"-Alright, Nyx, g'night! It was fun playing with you!"

"Good night, I hope I see you again soon."

"Yeah!" -Stacy hopped up, and Nyx felt a tiny dot of moisture on her snout as the girl gave the scales there a tiny peck. "Night!"

-Then the little girl vanished around the same bend her friends had down the street lane.

Sitting up to her full height- the reptile dabbed a claw over her snout, left it there, rubbing, pondering. She was only made aware of how late it was once the trance had been broken- her experiencing of this amazing thing these babies had given her, unintentionally, too.

She was quiet most of the time that she trekked towards the source of the commotion in the center of town by the plaza- she heard laughter, talking, clapping- there was a radio device playing some kind of static-tinged old song she had never heard before.

There was only the hope of finding Sanford so they could pack up and head home- she had no interest in participating in the events here- so her height was mulled wth a bit of a slump.

"-AYE! Lizard-Lick! There ya' are!"

 _Oh, joy._

-She rolled her yellow, glowing eyes as the robot, Hancock, flew around from an alley behind her, zipped over to her side, and glanced up at her excitedly with all three ocu-lenses.

"Have you seen the monkey-man? I can't seem to find him!"

"Don't you have a scanning computer, that you can track his suit with?" She asked knowingly- looking at the Mr. Gutsy like he was a moron.

"-I KNEW THAT! I was just... TESTING you, Alligator-Freak!"

"Testing me, usiner? For what?" She scoffed happily.

"For anti-Communist authenticity!"

"...Pardon?"

"Yeah that's right! I was just making sure the Red Plague hadn't spread to you in our sleep!"

"You're an idiot, usiner."

"HERE, is what I want you to do- I want you, to LICK MY FUEL CELLS! SLOWLY!"

"It's not happening."

"FINE! I see! You're a TASTELESS Chinese sympathizer!"

"Mm."

"Don't 'Mm'- me, you mutant frog!"

"How does Sanford say it? You're obsolete."

"-...W-What did you just say, Gator-Chips?"

"Obsolete, usiner."

"-YOU CANTANKEROUS, MEAT-LOAF MUNCHIN', TOILET SWABBING, FLY EATING, SISTA' SLAPPIN', FANTA DRINKIN' SON OF A TIT! I'LL BUZZSAW YOUR NIPPLES!"

"I could not even understand half of what you just shouted, usiner." She chuckled. "No wonder you're obsolete, your understanding of the English language is rather dull."

"WHAT-?!"

" Oh, quelle' folie' de moi', I tried using long words..."

"-I'LL SET OFF MY SELF-DESTRUCT MECHANISM, YOU FUCKER! TAKE IT BACK!"

"Non'."

"HOLY CRAP! BLOOD-RAGE! INCOMING! I'LL FUCK YOU UP!"

"I hope you find the entertainment you're looking for."

"GAAAAHHHH-!"

"You screamed like one of the... 'Commu-nists' -you passionately despise."

"...Well played, Ghidorah-Mora, well played."

"Mmhmhm."

"-Now I see why Sanford has a hard on for ya'! You kick ass! Just like us!"

 ** _CLK_**

 ** _Clclcmclcmlclmc..._**

-She cringed, and swatted the robot away, where he rolled into an alley and rattled around some boxes that had been piled in the space back there.

Hancock raggedly was tossed- and within seconds, she hadn't even gotten a few steps away- he was back by her side, flying along with her.

"You got balls, Crocodile! I mean- not LITERAL balls! That's just wrong..."

"Mm."

"...Y-You don't have balls in there somewhere, do you?"

"Merde'- NO, how dare you!"

"-Don't gimme' that escargo chatter!" Hancock relented. "I dunno' what's what with you! You're a friggin' lizard! For all- THE HAN -knows, you could do all your shit outta' the same-!"

 ** _CLK_**

 ** _BM-Bmclckclcklcm..._**

-This time, Hancock left a dent in a scrap wall of one of the buildings nearby- he rattled and rolled to stillness on the dirt ground- lay there for a minute, and the Deathclaw actually thought she had broken him for a second.

She stopped in the middle of the path, turned over her shoulder and watched the motionless robot.

"...Usiner..?"

"..."

"...Usiner, get up, monsiuer' would be awfully upset if you further proved your being obsolete, and you let a wall do you in."

"...-YOU TWISTED FEMINAZI! KICKIN' THE POOR SCHMUCK WHILE HE'S DOWN, HUH?!"

"You'll be okay, poor baby."

"-ARRRGGHHH! I'LL LEAVE MOTOR OIL ON YOUR PILLOW!"

"-And then I'll stuff it into that storage compartment on your back, usiner."

"HA! I have shit WAY worse than that crammed in there! It smells like gym socks wrapped around the decaying feet of a sixty year-old corpse!"

"...You're disgusting." She sneered.

"Correction! I'm a FUCKIN' DIRTBAG, BITCH!"

"Accurately summarized."

"Now that THAT's settled- I CALL A DRAW!"

"Whatever you must do to make yourself happy, usiner."

"I SAID A FREAKIN' DRAW!"

"Mm."

"Fucker!"

"Mm."

"...Say, have you and the Flea-Eating Scrotum-Scratcher figured out that hogwash you were both spittin' earlier?"

"What?"

"The fight, you Commie'!"

"...Mm. I suppose so, oui'."

"'Bout' time! Don't pull shit like that anymore! You almost gave the captain a heart attack!"

"...Sanford started it."

"I CALL BULLSHIT!"

"...It doesn't matter anymore, usiner, I'm done discussing it. Fini'."

"Good thing too! Can't have the team of badass destruction infighting!"

"Mm."

"...You know, Gila-Monster, you've made Sanford a happy guy."

"What do you mean?"

"Look at him! He's having the time of his miserable, stank-ass life with you around!"

"...O-Oh."

"Not that I can see WHY, after all, you DO suck."

"Mm."

"I respect that!"

"That is quite unusual."

"DON'T GET USED TO IT!"

"I will note that."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Pretty close to the main plaza was a small shack- and the only reason it stood out from the others around it, was because of its size, and the fact that all the windows were boarded up.

Sanford took the appearance of the place with a bit of worry- he had heard some people giving Jess a hard time earlier in the day, and he actually was considering that maybe, he had come across the OTHER recluse in Diamond's walls.

He didn't know anything about her, he hadn't ever spoken to her before- yet here he was walking towards her place of establishment, laughing with her, telling her an exact repeat of everything he had just told Robert not to long ago.

"-Yep, veteran of the war in Anchorage AND Japan, my pa' was."

"You take after him, I see. Wiping those synths out like they were standing still."

"-I mean, YEAH, I guess, a little bit..."

"So how do you get out of that thing, Tobs?" She spoke over her shoulder as she slipped a key into the lock of the metal door to her home- Sanford watched, and noticed she was smiling.

"It'll only take a minute." He said.

The door clicked open.

"I don't know what Rob's office looks like, but here's mine, Tobs." Jess went inside first- pulled down on a line draping from the dark ceiling- the lightbulb up there buzzed, light flourescently illuminated the whole inside of the structure.

It looked pretty similar to Robert's business- there was a door that lead to some back area- probably the place she actually LIVED in- and here there was a two room office and lobby, the walls were lined with aluminum cabinets, filing drawers, and thin skeletal shelves stacked with papers- there was a rifle on the top of a alumnum desk in the back.

At least the floor wasn't messy like Rob's, it was just... Everything ELSE was.

Sanford stepped into the frame wordlessly as Jess hung back and waited.

He paced over in front of the desk, nodded at the gun on top of it- looked both ways, pointed at the floor awkwardly.

"R-Right here?"

"That works, Tobs." She laughed at him. "C'mon, they'll run out of beer soon, they ALWAYS do."

"I don't drink." Sanford said as the suit hissed, creaked, the limbs hung on either side- **_CHSM- wwhmmm-_** and the back plating unfolded.

-Climbing out onto the floor, his boots thudded hollowly against the tile- he turned around and held his arms out to her.

"What do you think?"

"VERY handsome." She smirked.

"Huh."

"Are you all set?"

"Going with a stranger to a drunken party?"

"You don't HAVE to drink, if you wanna' be a party killer." She rolled her eyes. "It'll be fun. Especially for me, seeing as no one's willing to go with the OTHER trouble maker of Diamond."

"Explain that to me," Sanford asked as they both slipped back out the door, and she shut and locked it behind them. "-You and Robert were partners before?"

"Sorta'." Jess sighed, spinning around briskly and pointing for the source of the noise ahead. "Robert's too concerned with himself and his work to have a partner."

"You seem really harsh towards him, and, he doesn't seem to reciprocate it." Sanford observed- them walking beside each other down the dirt lane- he actually got a bit of a naked feeling, leaving all his gear, his guns behind with the suit... He brushed it aside.

"That's because he knows he was wrong."

"I would focus on the fact that it's over, and you both are fine staying away from each other... Today was jus a one-time thing, hopefully it'll never happen again, right?"

"...You're too optimistic for a fighter, Tobs." She leaned over and bumped him with her hip.

Sanford shifted to the side from the contact- not because it was strong, but, it raised a sort of flaring suspicion in him. Against his own judgment, perhaps, with brain power being replaced by another force's influence- Sanford didn't call it out, and kept going with it.

"Tell me about yourself, Tobs." Jess looked up at him. "I've heard all these things about you today, and none of it from YOU."

"...I just... I dunno', what's to know? I'm a scavenger, I have the weirdest group in the Wasteland with me." Sanford chuckled.

"I don't even understand how you got a DEATHCLAW with you... That's amazing!"

"Yeah, we just... FOUND each other."

"We've had Mutants, Ghouls, foreign people from outside the Commonwealth... But never a Deathclaw."

"Most places haven't. -Where do you come from?" He changed the subject.

"I was born here." Jess replied. "Had three sisters and a brother, my dad and my stepmom."

"Wow, big family."

"-Amazing right? Then mom and dad moved down south with the militia, took my sisters with them, and my brother, uhm... He... Died."

"I'm sorry, can I ask how?"

"-I don't want to talk about it."

"Sure."

"What about you? Any family left after two-hundred years?"

"Nope."

"Any girlfriends?"

"-Listen, Jess," Sanford stopped short- they could see shadows of people moving about down the street, at the mouth of the plaza beside Billet's shop- laughing, glass breaking, talking. He held up his hands and frowned. "-What is this?"

"Don't tell me you have a problem with it," She smiled. "You DID save me today, and, when was the last time a cute guy happened in Diamond who would talk to me for more than a minute?"

"I couldn't say."

"-There is all the evidence you need, amazing, right? How drab it is here."

"So... What then?"

"Care to skip the party for some pointless sex, guy?"

"...I-I'm sorry... W-What?"

-Keep in mind here, that, Sanford was human, and if anything was obvious about humans, it was that they sometimes were overcome with a desire to enact a replication of passage of genes, even though the effort was fruitless, and not always deeply connected to them emotionally.

Sanford had been running around Boston, doing all kinds of crazy things for twelve years- and never once in those twelve years, had he come across another human being, another person, where his ocassional sex drive could be placated.

This was like an earthquake for him- something a young boy would experience almost- it was an exciting, brain-clouding, finger trembling chance of opportunity- decade of having nothing, and all of a sudden, this beautiful young woman was opening the door.

Sanford's mouth went dry- he felt lightheaded.

-Images of the Deathclaw flashed throughout his mind, but his addled brain wasn't even computing that she was in the picture anymore.

It was a romantic height over the very thing he had been taught was the RIGHT thing since he was a baby- and that hadn't been in his life ever since he had reached maturity. Sanford understood... bluntly, you know... what to DO, how to do it, what the complications might be, or the fluencies...

But God almighty, he was a dear in headlights.

"Why not try for it?" She persisted- she was touching him now, his shoulders- she had the weight of her pelvis against his.

Sanford quaked- it was so instantaneous, so powerful that even SHE felt how his body reacted.

Sanford would regret it later, he REALLY would, but he didn't control himself.

He sealed it.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

"Merry belated Christmas, Diamond!" Mayor Jompson called out from the front of Billet's counter- the crowd clapped and cheered.

Nyx and Hancock cut through the outskirts of the celebration- where there were almost fifty or sixty people gathered throughout the plaza- and some of them were so drunk that they didn't even cast a glance in the odd duo's direction.

"Look at them! Wasting away on their Commie' made camel-piss beer!" Hancock ranted- flinching back when a man stumbled by, laughing copiously. "I oughtta' shoot coolant at 'em!"

"Refrain from that, please." The Deathclaw sighed.

"-Alligators are walking-!" -A passing woman hiccuped.

Nyx's chops rippled for how deep the resulting growl was.

The woman hiccuped again- this one sounded more like a gasp -and she hurried away back into the crowd, dropping a beer bottle on the dirt at her feet.

"You tell those scabs, T-Rex!" Hancock laughed- picking up the bottle with his claw, he smashed it against the ground where the bottom bulb shattered- **_CRSK!_** -and he started waving the sharpened end around. "-BAR FIGHT TIME! CHAAARGGEE!"

"Be QUIET, usiner! I have a headache!" She barked at him.

Hancock stared at her blankly, dopped the bottle on the ground.

"-Kill joy." He commented.

"UGH." She pouted.

There were lanterns lit all over the plaza- the whole area was tinged amber- she saw the Mayor walking around, talking to people, with Liham nearby- soldiers were on the outskirts of the celebration, and most of them were looking at her under their S.W.A.T helmets.

She growled again and sped up her step.

She wanted to leave already.

"Usiner, have you picked up Sanford?" She groaned over her shoulder.

"Aye-aye on that! He's down THAT street! Right there!" Hancock jabbed his buzzsaw. "ONWARDS! Yah lizard! YAH! -Damn it! I don't have a whip!"

"Fuck off." She rolled her eyes.

"SUCK MY SPROCKET!"

-The two rounded the side of Billet's noodle shop- and her eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness that invaded the street beyond.

The noises became more and more faint as the two trekked a little further down the dirt- amber highlighting her scaly back, and Hancock's rounded chassis.

"-Augh! Crap! I think I tugged a circuit breaker! Someone get the pliers!" Hancock snapped- banging the side of his buzzsaw against himself.

"Do it yourself." Nyx snorted.

"Bah! To HELL with you! I'll fix MYSELF!"

"Monsieur'? Is that you? Where is your-"

-Two figures, shadowy, conjoined.

She stopped in her tracks and saw Sanford, out of his armor, leaned down, and making oral contact with that journalist girl they had saved in the streets outside.

They didn't even notice the two of them from down the street.

Sanford and her shifted their heads a few times.

It was... Disgusting, to watch.

...She didn't have a right to be angry about it, she knew... They had pledged nothing, they had enacted nothing...

...But she was so mad, so flaming angry, that Hancock, frozen beside her- realized the scrunching sound he was detecting faintly in the air was her knuckles cracking from how hard she clenched fists.

...Look at the two of them.

First he said stupid shit to her, and now- now THIS.

...You know what, fuck this. Fuck all of this, she was done. Last damned straw. Fuck him.

"...I-I'm leaving." She choked- she spun around, and her tail slouched through the air behind her.

"Wait?! What the hell?! WHY?!" Hancock started to follow her- his thruster whooshing- then he turned one ocu-lense to glance down the street. "...OH, yeah, that'll... That'll piss the protagonist's chick off! What the BALLS, Sanford?! YOU HO-TOTING PIMP-ASS, BITCH!"

The robot spun back around, and saw the Deathclaw was already halfway through the plaza.

"-WAIT! Drago-Muffins! COME BACK! There's an obvious explaination! SHE'S A FUCKIN' MARTIAN! WITH A MIND-CONTROL BEAM! SAN' OF THE FORD'HAS BEEN HYPNOTIZED BY A LITTLE GREEN ALIEN!"

-The guards on either side of the gate at the top of the ramp parted, and they asked what she was doing.

"-I'm going for a walk, please open the gates."

-The soldiers looked at each other, didn't argue with the seven-foot tall reptile.

Hancock had just parted between a few people by the time the gates slid aside- rattled still, and the Deathclaw was gone into the darkness of the gateway corridor outside in the blink of an eye.

"WAIT! HOLD THAT GATE, YOU FUCKERS! I HAVE A SCALY FREAK TO CHASE AND RETRIEVE! HOLLDDD THEEE GAAATTTEEEE-!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Sanford was on overdrive the whole time. He saw nothing else, heard nothing else- all he focused on was kissing this woman.

It got pretty heavy before fate intervened- she was panting into his mouth, she had a leg over his hip- they teetered in the middle of the dirt street in the darkness. Sanford gripped her behind through her pants- he was sweaty, he was shaking.

...And then this, big, shadowy, fat, theoretical finger- like the finger of a poltergiest, or a demon- just... WRUNG itself into the back of his mind, and it pressed and snarled.

It was a hideous, hideous feeling- a feeling of guilt, a feeling of betrayal. He had consecrated NOTHING, not a single God damned thing with that creature- and yet that sense of connection, that the last month had formed- it forced him to suddenly tear away, and look into the darkness over Jess' head.

The girl leaned against him, panting, looking up at his chin with a feeling of gradual sinking pitting in her system.

"-W-What happened?" She stuttered.

"...I-I-I... I... I can't do this." He mumbled.

His hands, his arms- they unfurled from her, and he stepped back- she teetered in the cold space in shock before him.

"...I can't do this, t-this isn't right..."

"-Did I do something wrong?" Jess looked like she was about to cry. "T-Tobs did I do something wrong?"

"...N-No, this isn't your fault. You didn't do anything, it's... it's ME who's done something wrong... I... I have to go."

"...The door's locked, Tobs..."

"C-Can I borrow your key?"

"...Yeah... Here..." She dug into her pocket- the golden piece clinked in her fingers- Sanford took it quickly and stepped down into the darkness from whence they came.

Jess stood in the shadows- looking down at her own shoes- there were tears running down her face.

A Power Armored gauntlet extended into her vision, the fingers opened, with her tiny key in the center palm.

She snatched it up, stuffed it in her coat pocket- and looked at the expresionless helmet of Sanford Tobs.

"...I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that." She apologized.

"Don't be. It's fine." Sanford patted her arm. He turned to the plaza, and the mechanical boots whined and thunked as they carried him away from her. "...You should talk to Rob' again, you can't stop talking about him." -He called over his pauldron.

Jess looked down at her shoes again and hugged her arms over her breast.

...He was right.

AND, he was no replacement for all those years ago. Not for her.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	52. Chapter 51

**CHAPTER 51**

 **Here we go again...**

* * *

What had he been thinking?

Grabbing her up like that? Going all over her like that? He didn't even know who the hell she was, and she didn't even know who the hell he was.

He runs into some random girl who just happens to be appealing, charming, looking for a bit of companionship just as he was his whole life- and the next thing he knew, he had her in a lip-lock in the middle of some street in Diamond.

Sanford felt like he had blatantly tossed his standards out the figurative window- he didn't appreciate the way he had behaved, the way he had reacted, but... Would anyone else in his shoes do differently?

Well of course they would, but, HOW differently?

He had just gone with what his body was saying- and that was just insulting to his own intelligence, because he was smart enough to know that listening to purely instinct could lead to bad places, it was what separated human from animal.

Was he really that alien to romance that he just leapt on the opportunity like that? He felt gross.

Sanford probably circled the plaza two or three times as he wandered around Diamond's heart- nudging past groups of drunken people, nodding at guards who greeted him as they were now off duty- he found Mayor Jompson chatting with Liham by the side of Billet's shop.

"Either of you seen my Deathclaw?" Sanford called over the commotion- his voice laced with static as the amplifiers in his helment tried to compensate for the noise.

"No Tobs, I haven't seen her." Liham shook his head.

"As haven't I." Jompson added- looking concerned. "-Sanford, you didn't lose a Deathclaw in my city, did you?"

"I'm sure she just wandered off with Han', we're packing up, I wanted to find her so we could head out." Sanford reassured. "Parties were never my thing."

"Hold on, I'll see if the boys saw her." Liham nodded- the gruff man shouldered into the crowd- heading for the gates.

Sanford shifted closer to the Mayor and the seeming aura of emptiness that revolved in the immediate vicinity of Billet's store property- desperately trying to distance himself from the laughing, tumbling people as they drank themselves stupid.

"Where'd you get all the beer, Jom'?" Sanford asked- looking down at the shorter, older man.

"LOTs, and lots of foraging, Sanford!" Jompson smiled. "-Jerry Sims figured how to work that good brewing lab we set up in the basement sublevel, max production! Splendid, isn't it?"

"I guess so."

"People need to breathe."

"I understand."

"-Oh, excuse me, Sanford."

"Sure."

Jompson vanished too.

Sanford idled in his spot- he watched in flickering glances across the crowd as people partied, and were careless- he didn't feel any sensation of being left out while he observed, or from purposefully separating himself from the city.

Sanford had become very solitary after a decade- a little crazy too, but, that wasn't why he didn't want to be here, at least, it wasn't the only reason. He still had a pit of axiousness, guilt, in his belly, and it felt God-awful.

"-Watch wher' ya' steppin', Tobs."

"-WOAH!" -Sanford startled back from the edge of the wall of Billet's shop's flank- he looked down at the dirty ground, and, crouched there, leaned back against the building, wearing stained, torn jeans and a black hoody, was a Ghoul. "-Sorry Mill."

"Probleh' woulda' done me a good service steppin' on me anywah'."

"You're drunk aren't you?"

"Naw, naw man," The Ghoul blinked with hazy, gray eyes- looked up at Sanford's helmet, and smiled with what few yellowed teeth he had left- he fiddled with the crucifix hanging over his chest with one hand, lazed a beer bottle over his knee with the other. "-I can walk, jus' don't feel like it'."

"Right."

"-You lookin' fer yer' Deffhaw?"

"You're wasted."

"Naw, naw, man... Not wasted, just..."

"-You know, Robert told me you were an aethiest," -Why he tried to start a conversation with the drunkard, he didn't know, it just happened. "-What's with the cross?"

"...Jus' becuzz' I don't believe in no God, don't mea' I can't carry this little' thin'..."

"How so?"

"...I believe..." Mill, the sad, sad man that he was- or, perhaps ONCE was- tipped back his rotten looking head, took a swig of his bottle, smacked his chops. "-I believe in a higha' powa'."

"But not God?"

"God, Allah, The Lawd'... The shit's the differencccceeeee...?"

"I dunno'."

"...It a symbol, of a higha' powa'," Mill gripped the crucifix. "-Might not be the RIGHT higha' powa' to me... But it a symbol, and I don't know of no otha' symbols fo' a higha' powa' that I can git'."

"...Is that it?"

"Somone' giv' it to meh', long time ago. Not the reason' I carry it."

"Who gave it to you, Mill?"

The Ghoul drained his bottle- tossed it on the dirt by his waist, belched, and wiped his hoody sleeve across his mouth.

"Fuck yerself'."

"Huh." Sanford turned back around and watched for Liham, or the Mayor. "You should take a nap, Mill."

"...Waayyyy ahead of ya'."

-Silence from down there.

Sanford rolled his jaw, shifted on his heels.

Where the hell was Liham? Where the hell was his Deathclaw? And Han'?

Sanford was getting impatient- he wanted tonight to be over with already- and there was a combination of anger towards himself for the incident with Jess, trepidation for the journey they still had to get home, and most of all, a bit of awe at how today had turned out.

Here he was, assuming that the Deathclaw was just part of his daily life now- and out he and Hancock went to do their usual scavenging, and then, BOOM, one firefight, two firefights, THREE firefights... And here they were miles off original course in Diamond City.

There was stress too, over the consequences of his actions so far.

He'd most likely pissed off two of the most powerful brokers throughout post apocalyptic North America- the Enclave, and the Institute- and while the remoteness of his home and the places he frequented would help him evade them, and his skills would help him defend himself and his friends, they both were professional armies and professional armies hit hard.

Notably, the Institute's little 'First Impression'- hadn't been very stellar, but Sanford wasn't convinced. Hadn't there been a famous general he'd read about as a boy that underestimated his foes based on one engagement? That guy got fried, right?

Sanford didn't remember- all he remembered was that it was in a book his father had bought him.

Sanford had explained his pa' to more people tonight than he had across the entire Wasteland in the last twelve or so years... It was... Interesting, to discuss with Robert, a few words with Liham earlier, with Jess, even though the latter turned into a shitstorm.

As he thought about his dad a bit more- Sanford realized that he could barely remember what his father's face looked like, and the same with his mother's, he didn't like it.

"-My men are sayin' your 'Claw took a midnight stroll, Tobs." Liham came up to him from the crowd- suddenly, unannounced- Sanford looked down, quirked a brow.

"What?" He asked dumbly.

"Your friend left through the gates," Liham gestured for the gates down at the end of the plaza, up the ramp. "-Into the streets."

...That wasn't... That didn't make sense.

A stroll? A 'Stroll'? What the fuck was she doing? Where'd she go? What-

-Sanford glanced back at the street he had entered the plaza from- he looked at the ground, at the dirt- and clearly, right there, smack dab in front of his stupefied face- were taloned footprints, twice the size of the mixed shoe and boot marks across the dust.

They looped right around, vanished under the bustle of the crowd, right for the gate.

...He wondered, if, she saw what had happened with Jess.

Oh crap.

-Well, why else would she do that?

 ** _CLNK!_** -He slapped a gauntlet on the temple of his helm.

"-I'm a mother fuckin' moron." Sanford stated. "I'm a fuckin' moron- I gotta' go, Liham, open those gates for me."

"Did something happen?" Liham followed by Sanford's side as he stormed through the crowd- shoving and shouldering past mobs of blissfully unaware people. "-Tobs!"

"Get those gates open! NOW!" Sanford shouted, jabbed a finger up at the wrought iron towers on the top wall level by the gate.

The two plates of massive scrap metal rattled, shook, cast off dust- they started parting, and Liham didn't get through the crowd he'd been stuck in briefly, fast enough to ask more questions- he only saw the shadowed outline of Sanford Tobs as he strode out into the night beyond the gates.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

This was all his fault, and now, this offense had been doubled.

First he'd mouthed off to her, and now, he sucked some girl's face in front of her- completely oblivious to how he KNEW she would take that.

The Power Armor was rattling, creaking, thudding against the pavement- Sanford ran straight ahead into the little intersection of streets just outside the gates- he heard them rattle shut behind him inside the stadium.

The sounds of the crowd were but a faint whisper in the haunting darkness- all the buildings silently loomed over the cracked pavement, still strewn with some pieces of synths, spent shell casings and discarded power pack batteries.

The crater that the teleportation pod had made was still there- but... the pod... WASN'T.

Where had the pod gone?

Hadn't the guards said it was still there? And that they had torn some wires out?

Sanford ran around the bend of a building- his night vision filters allowing him leeway in the pitch blackness- he stood on the edge of the ruined maw torn into the pavement, and he noticed a pair of huddled shadows on the street ahead.

He stepped around the crater this time- knelt on one leg, and stared grimly at two men in umpire gear, with S.W.A.T helmets and body armor- blood had coursed briefly from tears in their stomachs- rather small looking incisions that cut straight through the armor.

Sanford nudged his head, and saw that these wounds went all the way through their bodies- they must have been stab wounds of some kind...

-...And... It smelled like something was burning.

It smelled like burnt flesh.

-Sanford knew that smell, the decade of seeing shit across the wastes was to thank for that.

He ran a retinal scan from the interior HUD of his helmet- and a second later, confirmation message blocks bleeped into his vision giving readouts of carbon residue from laser-based heat, dead cells killed by it.

...Holo-Blades.

These soldiers had been killed by synths.

Who ELSE could've done this so cleanly, so quietly?

The pod was gone because the Institute either found a way to covertly carry it off, or, more logically- found a way to beam it back from wherever it came from.

 ** _BEEP_**

 ** _BEEP_**

 ** _BEEP_**

-Sanford froze.

He stood to his full height, and he accessed a message block in the internal recognitions of his helmet's communication links.

He blink-accessed it, and read that it was an incoming signal- tuned to home on his suit.

...It was Hancock.

It was Hancock's signal, and it was coming from miles away.

Hadn't they talked about this in the past? At the Super Mutant camp? If something like this had ever happened again, if they ever were separated again, they could use the distress beacons to home in on each other...

Hancock was in trouble. This was a call for help, it had to be, the robot's deranged sense of pride wouldn't allow anything else.

"...Hancock where the hell are you...?" Sanford tried to pull up a link to his friend's communications mic'- and all he got was white noise. "Hancock? Come in, man, where are you? Where's the Deathclaw? Uhm- Nyx? Anything?"

"..."

"...Hancock, c'mon..."

"..."

"Fuck."

Sanford looked around the street more.

Like he had seen already, the only things still lying around were spent shells, battery packs from Institute guns...

There were a few synths that still were sprawled, dead, on the pavement- which struck Sanford as odd, seeing as the guards claimed they had piled and burned them.

Three corpses in total- pretty spaced out- one was strewn in the center of the street, the other was on its back, skeletal face looking up at the stars on the sidewalk- the third was slouched over in an alleyway nearby.

Sanford took the time to examine each corpse- he knelt, looked them over- he nudged them with his foot.

The one in the street had plasma burns on its chest, and half its head had been blown off- the other two had their chests torn open, and scattered electronic innards were cast out around them from where they had been skewered.

Eventually, Sanford was standing somewhere in a mid-point between all three of them- and he had an armored palm over the cranium of his helmet, and he was pacing, back and forth, back and forth- the suit whining with each step.

The beacon was still going off in his hearing from the HUD.

...He noticed a gun lying by one of the dead androids- it looked similar to one of the laser rifles the Institute forces had used.

Sanford stopped short- he advanced on the corpse, nudged away its limp arm with his boot, and picked up the rifle. It was two handed, and instead of a battery pack on the side, there was a rectangular clip jutting from the bottom- there was no carbon projector either, but a rounded, fat barrel.

Sanford first thought it was some kind of grenade launcher, or explosives launcher- however, when he clicked the little ejection pin on the gun's lower half, popped out the gray clip and looked inside of it- his suspicions were washed away for dread.

Inside the clip, were not bullets, nor grenades, nor any kind of small explosive.

They were darts.

Egg-shaped little things with silver needles on the end, and a single red dot painted on the midsection of each.

Sanford had his retinal scans work for a bit on the munitions.

The results came back.

Anaesthetic chemicals.

Tranquilizers. Heavy shit too, this stuff could knock out an elephant- it was a chemical cocktail not in the suit's data logs, which meant it was created entirely by whoever had shot it.

That meant the Institute had her.

They had Nyx, they had Han'.

"-Those fucks," Sanford grit his teeth- he tossed the gun and the clip away. "I'll kill every single one of them."

Sanford bent down again, and came back with the same synthetic's laser rifle- which had been laying by its hip.

"Let's see what these techie' bastards have in here."

Sanford gripped both ends of the gun's frame- and he pulled.

 ** _CLK!_** -The weapon cracked open like an egg under the increased strength from his suit's systems.

There was a shiny sheet of metal-like material in there- Sanford wanted to see what the amplification device in this gun was made of.

He tossed away half the frame-bundled the coppery wiring connecting the battery port and the still-loaded pack to the main fluctuation and dispersion rods- he tore it out, and he tossed it away, to prevent the battery from exploding- he pinched the sheet with two fingers, lightly worked it out from the copper moorings.

He scanned it, and the result frightened him.

It was a chemical combination of primarily adamantine and rutile- which meant the Institute had melted together these materials, or had coated one over the other- and THIS was what actually created the beam of carbon to shoot from the weapon.

No wonder the Institute rifles were so accurate, and, he could only imagine what would happen if some of the beams had actually HIT him.

Sanford got an idea.

He knelt down, dug into his rucksack- and came back with a screwdriver and pliers. He laid the Institute gun down, pulled out his own personal Laser rifle.

He went to work, quickly.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Dead end after dead end- it seemed to be the closest description he could find to a summarization of his time after attaining his rank. He ran into dead ends in Virginia and Maryland with the Mutants, he ran into dead ends with the NCR, he ran into dead ends in D.C. with the Brotherhood- and now he was running into dead ends in Boston.

The difference between these dead ends in New England, from those further east or on the West Coast- was that at least those dead ends wound up being for a greater purpose, or had eventually reaped some kind of benefit through the blood, sweat and tears.

Here Laslar Seduun was chasing shadows, and he had nothing to prove for it in the ways of fruit for the labor and manpower. A total of six soldiers had died for literally nothing- four from his former subject, the Deathclaw, and two from this wastelander it had allied with.

Enclave units of the 7th Division had been able to operate covertly across Massachusetts and around the city of Boston for weeks before Laslar took over the operation- which, even though he never voiced it, pissed off Commander Rime to an unspeakable degree -but now, that the operation was taking this long, there was some tension.

A few squads of armed locals had detected them quite a number of times- contact hadn't been extended or close enough for any kind of communication to be made- but research into the development of Boston had revealed these people were calling themselves the 'Minutemen'.

The Minutemen were a militia group- an army, more or less -that encompassed all of the Boston area in their zone of protection, and there were smaller sects that pledged fealty to the Minutemen as far as the ruined towns around the former Middlesex Fells Reserve up north.

Laslar wasn't very concerned about the militia- even though he had read about their armed resistence to Brotherhood incursion from both the Mideastern and Eastern Chapters- they had no idea that their field HQ was set up in the Braggman's Water Plant, and they hadn't tried to shoot yet.

The Minutemen weren't a priority here- and not only Laslar, but Eden, and pretty much all of the High Command had literally no desire to attempt and expand sovereignty over New England- as the only thing worth owning was possibly the Institute- and that required a military annexation, which Laslar was underequipped to perform.

Right now his only concern was grabbing the Deathclaw, killing the wastelander with it, so he could head back to Washington and attempt to enforce his new chain of command on the other units out East, before trying for the West.

The problem was, like he had said- he kept running into dead, damned, ENDS.

Ever since the wastelander had escaped them at the quarry, it had become increasingly difficult to use aerial patrols to locate the man's position, or that of the Deathclaw's- and Laslar was beginning to believe more and more, that he had some kind of portable jammer as suggested long ago by his fellows.

Rime said to start looking in major population centers- and the only examples of those that were present, were Fenway Park, an old military fortification down south that locals were calling 'Fort Freedom'- and a town called Bulwark- the latter two, were the primary sources of operations of the militiamen.

Again, this was not to say that Laslar was worried about his men's performance if they happened to get caught in a fight with the militia- it was just that there were A LOT of them, and the only presence the Enclave had were the fickle elements of the 7th- a quarter of an army against thousands of guys.

If reinforcements had been present, and weren't tied up in the West or in D.C.- Laslar would've fully supported tearing New England asunder, and leaving no building standing in his quest for the Deathclaw. However, it wasn't meant to be, not today.

Still the consistent air sweeps were becoming hellish.

It didn't help that Laslar was in a murderous mood- in fact, he was more angry today then he had been when he first showed up.

Eden, had ordered three of Laslar's fleet of six Vertibirds back to D.C.- including the VB-130.

"What the fuck do you mean, they're to return to Washington?" Laslar roared when Laureen- the condescending bootlicker that she was -told him sternly.

"You heard me, Superintendent."

"If Eden thinks this will stop me, he's WRONG, you make sure he hears that!"

"The President's intentions are tactical in nature, not personal."

"Yeah, and the fuckin' radiation cleared over New York." Laslar rolled his eyes.

-Days later, with those 'birds gone, his operation FURTHER diminished- Laslar only knew it was a matter of time before either Eden, or some other nutcase in the Enclave High Command took the opportunity to attempt and demote him, or even abandon him in New England.

Who knew, maybe someone would have Laureen or another Secret Service spook roll in and try to shoot him.

These were concerns overall, and over the last few months, all the anger, all the anxiousness to just ring someone's throat, the war in D.C.- had actually caused Laslar to develop a twitch in his right hand.

His left gauntlet was clenched over the support bar on the roof of the Vertibird's troop bay- his right was fiddling in the air by his hip, draped lazily- the fingers were scrunched together, and he kept bouncing his wrist over and over and over.

The aircraft roared as it angled slightly for a new direction in its flight- and outside, air was whizzing by the closed deployment flanks on either side of the bay- Laslar kind of missed the two custom 20'mil' mounts the 7th had bolted into the other Vertibird he had flown in.

Now it was his squad, four men, Luft, and him in the troop hold- they rocked with the 'bird's motions, looked quietly into space, not at each other.

Luft and three of the other guys were seated in the restraint chairs towards the back of the hold- Laslar had willed to stand- he was too on edge to sit out the flight, and the other man next to him just didn't grab a seat in time, only reason he was there.

"...Why are we landing here, sir?" Luft piped up from behind.

"Scans showed the wastelander and the 'Claw were here." Laslar muttered- outside, the Vertibird moaned, the rotary blades rotated back as the pilot slowed for a descent.

"They're probably gone." Luft noted.

"Astounding, thanks for the obvious." The Superintendent sneered. "All I need is a single God damned clue, a single one, and I can track them."

"Yes sir."

" _-Landing zone compromized, Superintendent, your orders?_ " -Came the pilot's voice through the comm' link in Laslar's helmet.

"Compromised?" He tore away from the support grip on the ceiling- marched for the cabin ahead. "-What the fuck do you mean, COMPROMISED?"

" _I count twenty guys._ "

"WHOSE' guys?"

" _Militia._ "

"Son of a bitch."

Laslar ducked through the porthole- hunching in the cramped cockpit over the shoulders of the two operators- who glanced at him, and the pilot took a hand off the stick to point through the viewport of the Vertibird's bubble canopies.

The Museum of Science was down there, as expected- sprawling out with ruined grounds, and a gigantic structure that was damaged with age and wear.

However, gridded like ants in the front garden and walking section of the place- was a cluster of men and women, armed, mostly with two-handed rifles- wearing trifold hats, and colonial overcoats. The Minutemen spread out to find cover behind trees, fallen logs, or brick guard walls in the gardens- some hid in a dip behind the main flight of stone steps for the front doors of the museum.

They weren't shooting, and one of them was standing out of cover in the center of the pavement- he was waving his arm.

"I think they wanna' talk, sir." The pilot said.

"Are there any radio signals being emitted from that unit down there?"

"Scanning. Found one."

"Start patching through, they'll get the message."

"Sir."

Static blared from the headset of the pilot and copilot- and from the console of the Vertibird's control center.

Laslar bowed his helmet and waited.

He saw the militiaman down on the ground level stop waving his arms- he hurried over to another soldier emerging from the backdrop, holding out what looked like a walkie' talkie, or some microphone device.

The obvious officer took it, waved the other guy off- and held it up to his mouth.

" _-This is Corporal Addace of the Minutemen, militia of the Commonwealth territory. This is not Brotherhood airspace and you know damned well that you aren't welcome here- Mannesk better have a good reason for this._ "

"We're not with Mannesk, militiaman," Laslar sneered into the link with a bit of disgust- he HATED conversing with natives.

" _-What the hell is the Mideastern Chapter doing in New England? Who is this?_ "

"My name is Laslar Seduun of the Continuate of the United States, we are Enclave, not Brotherhood, and we have no interest in coming to blows with you." -Laslar wanted to add- 'At this TIME' -but he refrained.

" _...Well Seduun of the Enclave, I don't know what you big smokes are doing this far east, but you are in violation of New Englad airspace just as much as Mannesk's Brotherhood has been._ "

"We understand this. We have a point insertion mission in the building you're entering- we're sweeping the interior and leaving."

" _Let's be real, Seduun, you and I both know who and what was here. You and your planes have been sweeping Boston airspace for days. In the interest of Boston's security, I have to refuse to abandon my post, OR let you land._ "

"I am not on any directive to refrain from lethal force, Corporal," Laslar said blandly. "As stated, I have no interest in fighting the militia, but I have a goal that I am tracking, and right now you and your men are the only things standing between me and it. I'll give you two minutes to comply, or I'll order my Vertibird to start strafing."

" _...You're certain about this, Seduun?_ "

"Two minutes."

" _...I'm patching contact to the Admirals in Fort Freedom- they'll want to address you over this._ "

"I don't care. Two minutes." Laslar pumped his fist on the console- he shoved away from the pilots, ducking through the porthole. "If they don't disperse, strafe once, drop me off, strafe again, drop the squad off."

"Sir." The pilot nodded.

"Luft," Laslar was back in the troop bay- he stood by the closed ramp door to the right, nodded at the Sergeant. "Possible combat drop, all of you, get ready."

Clicks and clacks of safeties being unpinned, batteries being linked.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Addace didn't know what to do.

He'd told off the Brotherhood, both Chapters too, in the past- he'd told off envoys from the Talon Company AND the Gunners- but never had he told off an airplane with primed missiles aimed at him.

His radio operators were able to get in touch with the Admiral Command Staff located almost fifty miles south in Fort Freedom- and they didn't know what to do either.

The threat was enough that the Command Staff linked up a call with another Minuteman squad that happened to be passing through the outskirts of ruined Back Bay, by the Boston Public Library. The sergeant leading that squad had a towed weapon on him- and it wasn't one of the Minutemen's commonality of the 75'millimeter artillery cannons.

The sergeant recieved the news- ordered a preparation- and the cable links on the backs of four modified tugging Protectrons were slacked off, three men got at the controls, one started loading a shell, the other two rapidly spun the adjustment cranks.

Understand that preparations had been taken since the Enclave had first been spotted over Boston's airspace- and weapons that had been deployed in the wake of fear of a war with the Brotherhood, who also had flown in on Vertibirds in the past -were currently operational in small numbers across the Commonwealth.

Arguing for its ability as an anti-ground AND air turret- the militia had seen it fit to decrease some mobility for appropriate firepower.

As such, across the Charles River, the Minutemen manning the wheel-mounted 90'millimeter anti-aircraft cannon had a completely clear shot of the Vertibird hovering in the far, far backdrop.

The gunners lined up the sights, electronics homing the barrel on its victim.

They loaded the shell, shut the hammer- the sergeant raised his arm.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Laslar waited sixty seconds.

Then, at the moment of truth- Addace's voice grumbled through the radio in his helmet.

" _-Get out of our airspace, or we shoot. Last chan-_ "

"-Strafe them, drop me off." Laslar cut the link.

" _Yes sir._ " -Came the pilot's voice.

The Vertibird rumbled as ammunition batteries were chambered.

On the ground, the militiamen had already dug in- however, they couldn't anticipate the Vertibird's missile barrage.

 ** _SHMM-! SHMSHMSHMSHM!_** -A thin, contrailing wave of armor-piercing fragmentation warheads streamed from the Vertibird's launchers on its wings- a cluster sailed for the garden behind the staircase and plaza of the museum, and another cluster sailed for the plaza itself.

On the ground, Addace saw the warheads getting bigger in the air above right before his eyes.

He called out for cover- some of his men screamed out similar.

Then the missiles hit.

 ** _BMBM-bmbmb-BMMMMM!_** -Five separate blooms of pluming fire balled up into the sky from the gardens just to the plaza's flank- there was screaming, tearing soil, snapping wood- a cluster of dead trees fell in writhing flame into the developing bursts of soot that blinded and choked anyone in the zones not killed by the burst.

Then the other missiles hit the plaza.

 ** _CRK-BMMMMMM!_** -In four zones did the concrete split and peel apart like soft soil- soot and fire belched out- shrapnel flew everywhere- an entire group of Minutemen gathered by the side of the stairs were virtually atomized from thin air as one of the warheads belched out stone and fire from the stairs dead center.

They all vanished in flickers of crimson and tossed black- chunks of concrete rained everywhere- and Corporal Addace himself rolled on the grass- heat washing over his whole body.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

A few miles away, the sergeant of the AA' gun squad thrust his arm down, and screamed at the top of his lungs-

"FIRE!"

 ** _CLMK!_**

-The hammer thundered, the gun barked deafeningly- casting a mushroom cloud of dust across the street around it, off of it- black smog clapped around the barrel in a brief flash of light.

-0-0-0-0-0-

He secured the moorings for his Tri-Archer's battery feed- kicked his legs to loosen his muscles- rolled his shoulders.

Laslar was practically quivering with anticipation for the kill- to be able to land among the midst of his foes, and to slaughter and butcher them- to rend life from people he deemed subhuman, beneath him, beneath the Enclave who were ALSO beneath him.

Might made right, might made right- Laslar had hammered that perversion into his brain since Texas and Mexico. He was RIGHT, and nothing else would raise a finger to it without risking their puny little life.

The ramp to the Vertibird's flank hissed, and light streamed in from the creases as the metal entryway lifted, and revealed a brief blinding flash of daylight from outside. The scream of the engines was now in full blast- whiplashing air rattled all the security clamps dangling from the ceiling of the hold behind him.

Laslar looked down at the single story drop- below, he saw the street that wound down right from the mouth of the Charles River Dam Road- the museum was a sprint away where he could begin suppressing the foolish militia who had dared to challenge him.

It was all going perfect.

Laslar was kind of hoping that idiot little Corporal in his idiot little coat and hat WOULD have given the order to shoot in the first place- he needed action.

The Superintendent managed one foot off the side of the bay-

-Then the pilot screamed into the comm' mic-

 _"-INCOMING FLAK!_ "

Laslar tensed up- his eyes went wild- he started to feel weightless as his right boot sailed past the rim of the Vertibird's bay floor- the Superintendent twisted his armored body painfully around- he threw his arms out, and made to tumble back inside the craft-

-And then the 90'millimeter shell, launched from nearly a mile away, detonated right beside the Vertibird's right rotary mounting.

 ** _CLAAMMM!_** -It was a loud popping noise- like a tin can exploding, and echoing down the streets below- Laslar had heard, felt, and seen a lot of crazy crap, but he NEVER forgot that sound. Ever.

"-FUCK-!" Laslar screamed at the top of his lungs as he sailed downwards a bit more- and then the Vertibird lurched from both the hit, and the pilot's late reaction timing to swerve away- the bottom rim of the troop bay smacked into his armor's gut.

His world rushed, and his head swam in an endless, vomit-inducing circle.

The Vertibird whined as it careened through the air-

 ** _wwwWWHHHmmmwwwhHHHHMmmmmmWWWWHHHmmmmm_**

-It spiraled clockwise, horizontally- the tail and cab passing each other over, and over, and over, and over- the aircraft spun through the sky, gradually losing altitude, heading west- smoke and licks of flame belched from blackened wounds torn in the right wing and the propellor engine.

Laslar, who was caught in the middle of it- thought he had fallen out of the plane whilst clenching a piece of debris.

In actuality, his legs were flung out before him- angled east, with his abdomen curled against the metal of the troop bay's bottom rim- his arms were extended, his gun and his other gauntlet strewn out on the floor inside the Vertibird's storage hold- behind him, a portal of swirling colors and black smoke curling to the left shown the outside of the craft as it spun out.

Laslar grit his teeth, he shut his eyes, holding on for dear life whilst his transport lost control- and he was the only slob that was being tossed like a ragdoll, half-outside the hold.

His squad buckled down and hunkered in their seats- the one other soldier who had been standing in the hold with Laslar was screaming- and his hollering intensified in Seduun's hearing, and then quickly faded away as the man was tossed clean off his boots, Power Armor and all, and hurled out the side of the Vertibird where he plummeted to street level.

-Down on the ground, there had to be only fifteen or twenty militiamen left after the missile barrage- and among them was Corporal Addace as he ran around trying to find able-bodied men.

"Get up! Get the fuck up! GET UP!" -It took Addace a moment to see he was yelling at a torso and head, and nothing else- there were stringing, crimson stumps in place of the arms and everything below the hip.

Addace sprinted from the corpse- he found another man tumbling on the ground- screaming his head off, crying for his mother- the Corporal didn't even get to yell for him to stand before he saw he was juggling his own intestines with grabbing hands and flailing arms.

"-MINUTEMEN! Muster on me! ON ME!" Addace desperately tried to regain control- there was smoke and dust still pluming everywhere across the plaza from the steaming gashes torn in the concrete- there was a small fire still brewing in the dead grass in the garden.

All of his men that had taken cover back there were either slaughtered, or convulsing on the ground from limbs being blown off, or bodies having been torn open from shrapnel or the sheer concussion of the blast.

Eventually, Addace had a small group of ten or so guys- all their uniforms were dirtied, burnt, or both- some of them had lost their hats, and some were picking up guns from the mangled corpses lying in the grass or the concrete of the plaza.

"Establish a firing line, God damn it! FIRING LINE!" Addace screamed at the top of his lungs- he ran over and started cuffing heads, knocking caps off of craniums- yelling in ears.

Men wielding projectile weapons organized on the sides, and a row of eight soldiers, armed with crank-charged militia-standard Laser Muskets, lined up at the behest of Addace.

 ** _BM-pmPLMpkppkpmp..._** -Dust and torn soil erupted from a NEW fissure just ahead of the stairs on the other side of the property, in the grass.

Addace spiraled around- he aimed his Musket at the younger dust cloud- and to his shock, he saw a lumbering, flailing, humanoid mound tossing on the ground where the impact had occurred.

Addace looked up, and saw the Vertibird spiral a few more times, trailing soot- and it vanished over the roof of a nearby building.

The poor fool had been tossed out of his own plane.

"TAKE AIM!" Addace cried.

"Take aim!"

"Take AIM!" -Repeated his Musket line of eight- the guns clacked, batteries primed- all the barrels lined up on the fumbling titan of steel on the ground ahead.

The Enclave soldier had just gotten himself upright to a kneel- his helmet had flung off, and he stared ahead- too disoriented to even realize what was happening- he hung his quivering arms on either side of his armored form.

Addace saw the pale face of the balled Enclave member for a brief second- before he cried out-

"-FIRE!"

 ** _PM-PM-PM_**

 ** _PMPMPMPM_**

 ** _PM_**

 ** _PM_**

-All eight Laser Muskets blasted out scything, inter-connecting beams of crimson carbon at once.

The Enclave soldier took six hits in the same portion of his abdomen plating- the laser energy pierced right on through- sparks and torn strips of blackened steel shot out the rear of his cuirass, and a bursting bubble of blood the size of his fist flecked out of his mouth and over his breastplate.

The soldier rumbled the earth as his armored form face-planted on the grass with a series of rattles and thuds.

First blood for the Enclave, second to the militia.

None of these men on either side realized they had just started a war that would last far, far beyond the Commonwealth for both factions.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	53. Chapter 52

**CHAPTER 52**

 **Hell Opens Up.**

* * *

His mind was pretty clouded by the time he started moving again.

Exhaustion was the biggest thing- he'd only sat down to rest in Diamond after a whole evening of fighting, and then, when he found out his companions had been taken from him, he didn't sleep the whole rest of the night as he tracked the signal of Hancock's distress beacon.

The signal was across the canal dividing the sections of Boston's center island and northern expanses- and originally, Sanford thought he would be able to cross over the Harvard Bridge into old MIT, and he spent probably fifteen minutes away from Fenway under that assumption- however, he remembered that Harvard Bridge had collapsed, and so with disdain, he looped around and headed west.

Sanford had finished installing the new amplifier sheet in the barrel of his gun in less than twenty minutes- and he tested it on a nearby car- and, much to his expectations, the red beams of carbon hit dead center where his scope was lined, and they punctured through the door, the interior, out the OTHER door on the other side.

The Institute's rifles had hitting power- and combined with all the wiring work he had done to this gun, he now had a rifle that he felt would be sufficient to fight off Enclave soldiers- he just wasn't certain how the ballistics would prove against Power Armor.

He had no problem operating under that hope- after all the gun was so modified by this point, that it was tuned to his usage- he was confident with it, and so far, the nifty little thing had kept him thoroughly alive through some of the bloodiest scraps he'd had in years.

It felt like Boston City was becoming drained, on this particular day- because, Sanford had made comments earlier about how the Raiders, the gangers, the Gunners, the Mutants never ever stopped in the endless turf wars for Boston's streets- today, it felt like they DID.

Sanford didn't run into any problems throughout almost an hour of navigating the ruined, rubble-buried streets of the city. He followed a long, worming road that he had forgotton the name of- that trailed all the way down the Charles River's southern flank.

The road rose eventually for an overpass with several grass fields dividing varied lanes and intersecting routes in this mess of an intersection- there were blasted cars and trucks dotted all over the place- and the same kind of haunting silence that was broken by only occassional settling of steel.

Sanford was so determined to reach where his friend's signal was coming from- that he threw caution to the wind, and jogged in his armor through the rows of cars, across the streets, across the grass- making a bee-line for it.

Ragged cries, chokes and hisses brought about the Wasteland's first attempt to stop him in his tracks- as unfolding from the interiors of cars, clawing out from under their chassis, or rising from stinking puddles of muddy water in the dipping recesses in the grass- came groups of Feral Ghouls.

The rags all over their wrinkled, malformed bodies fluttered in the developing morning breeze- their zombie-like hunches outlined as black shadows against the amber-tinted environment, with an orange sky and a rising sun to the north.

Laser fire echoed throughout the intersections and rebounded through the overpass- Sanford wielded his rifle in one hand, his energized cutlass in the other.

He sprayed Ghouls left and right, stepped over the corpses, slashed any aside that got to close- he stepped on some that tried crawling towards him when he shot out their legs or their guts- crunches of bone, spattering of blood that further turned his suit a drab shade of scabby crimson towards the boots.

The horde ran out of numbers- and Sanford breathlessly finished stomping past the last of the cars, further down the road he had been following- leaving a trail of tens of bodies, some still twitching and gurgling- in his wake behind him.

He forgot about the slaughter and perservered.

The view of the canal to his right was beautiful- highlighted under the rising orange ball of life-giving energy in the sky- pink clouds forming grasping fingers over the rooftops of a hundred skyscrapers, and stouter apartments that were skeletons of man's golden age.

Sanford distracted himself sometimes with brief glances over the water as he trekked- all the trees and bushes on the grass bordering the leveled-out shore here were dead and translucent anyway, thus there was no blockage to his eyes.

By the time Sanford reached the fringes of the Boston University Bridge- the sky was now a dull, light blue- and the sun was hidden behind a few bulging masses of gray, sorry-looking clouds. There was a tugboat that was beached on the sandy grass to his right- a few feet from the edge of an old sideroad that was closer to the water- Sanford kept his eye on the rusty, hollow ship while he passed.

All the old ships that were half-sunken, beached, or still caught in piers across the harbors and the canal were prone to Mirelurks, bandits, and all kinds of other bad shit that liked the dark or the hiding space it provided- he took it slower.

There was a railroad link that went underneath the Boston University Bridge- and it was still intact all these years later- it actually fared better than the road bridge right over it.

From his distance, the bridges drawled out as black disturbances against the seemingly pulsating blues and grays of the Charles River- they connected to an intersection further to the left- behind a few flattened, ruined buildings.

The road bridge had an overpass going right above the road Sanford walked on- but the railroad connection under it was level with where he walked- which meant he was crossing the canal over THAT.

He walked into the shadow of the overpass eventually- his eyes darting around- his sensors were picking up life signatures by the shore, and nearby towards the left deeper into Boston's center isle streets- the suit's HUD confirmed Mirelurks, large insect life- things Sanford didn't have time for.

He was just leaving the shadow of the pass, when water sifted and lapped nearby- and he immediately spun right- and blared his rifle at a bulbous, chittering mass that rose from the mud and dripped a trail across the pavement as it advanced on him.

 ** _PMPMPMPMPMPMPM-_** The improved carbon bolts cracked open the Mirelurk's armored shell like a knife through tinfoil.

The crustacean squeaked and hissed- it thudded wetly on the street with yellow bile forming a puddle under its mass- the claws twitched, and the legs curled up like a dying arachnid's would when they were still small, before the war.

Sanford had to shoot five or six more of that foe's friends as he cut through a bicycle path towards the railroad tracks, subsequently the bridge- the Wasteland's second attempt to stop him, also failing.

 ** _PMPMPMPMPMPM_**

- ** _PLsk!_** -The mutated crab's head popped open, white bile spewed everywhere on its shell, the ground.

This Mirelurk had less the appearance of a balled, hunched up common variant- it looked more like a big, spider-like lobster- and the body thrashed, the tail curling and uncurling as life left it through its ruined, long head.

Sanford switched sides with the battery on his rifle as he watched the great beast die in the dirt.

He was still breathing pretty heavily from the last few little scuffles- really, this had just been several games of him backing up, spraying the chittering horrors with fire until they stopped moving- which, with these improved bolts, was relatively quickly each time.

The Mirelurk alpha stopped twitching, and Sanford heard wet air dispel from its stilled mouth-parts.

The giant lobster was bypassed instantly whilst he moved for the bridge.

Originally, when the structuring hadn't been ruined by the war- the rail bridge had an overpass of its own over the bicycle paths by the shore parks of the canal- but Sanford had long ago found that the overpass had collapsed, and there was a literal hill of rubble and dispelled soil that you could hike up to reach the actual rails.

That's what Sanford started doing- he trudged, raising one boot higher than the other- he moved uphill on the sliding ramp of dirt and blocky stones. There were bricks from the bridge's structure that were still sticking out of the soil in places- and a pair of trees jutted out horizontally at the ramp's base from where they'd been buried.

The railroad tracks had been torn up in the area of the collapse- so there were some rails and chunks of moldy wood that stuck out of the ground too- Sanford stomped through it all, reached the relatively level top of the hill, and looked west and east.

Down one way, the tracks went down to street level in a ruined ramp connecting them to a main line extending into the city- and to the direction he wanted, to the right- the bridge protruded out over the dark water of the river.

Sanford checked his gun- looked around- looked at his scans, which were still very active with life signatures- and he started going down the bridge.

His boots crunched through the pavement on the side of the moldy, rust-ridden tracks- his eyes were still darting about- and he listened to the sound of lapping waves from the canal as he speedily walked.

He started thinking again. He was beginning to dislike when he was thinking.

This was all his fault.

If he hadn't let his damned hormones drive him into something so stupid- Nyx wouldn't have taken off, and Hancock wouldn't have followed to try and stop her, which- Sanford was pretty confident was why the robot was with her in the first place.

On the other hand, she and him hadn't taken their relationship to anything deeper than talking- and while they had discussed the possibility of some kind of interest in a weird, cross-species intimacy sort of deal- they had set nothing in stone.

Sanford had not pledged anything to her- that included a conjugal loyalty -and while, yeah, it was pretty scummy to talk sex with one person and then go on ahead and start getting involved with someone else- Sanford had to remember that he was the one bearing the brunt of the wrongness here.

He was done thinking with his anger- it only made the situation worse.

He liked that Deathclaw, he enjoyed her company- seven foot tall reptile or not. She was the most interesting sentient being he had ever come into contact with in his life- throughout his whole time as a child before the war, and the decade wandering Boston's ruins.

He coudn't stop thinking about her- he was afraid, and not many things made him afraid, like, FEARFUL, as this, anymore.

Sanford was always afraid- even when he and Hancock were winning, and when they triumphed, and when they found an amazing thing- a sightsee, an item, a place- whenever they had laughed together, joked, called each other names- no matter how confident or professional he became, Sanford would always be afraid, and there was absolutely nothing abnormal about that.

But he had never been afraid like this for another person.

Not even Hancock- because that robot could survive ANYTHING, and they had been buddies for so long that Sanford knew when the shit was hitting the fan, and his robot was in trouble.

Right now, he believed BOTH of his companions were in trouble.

He was an anxious wreck inside the X-01 suit.

All Sanford could do was keep moving- he had to fight through the exhaustion of a sleepless, physical exertion filled night- he had to fight through the monsters of the Wasteland, and he had to fight through his emotional unraveling.

Sanford kept jogging-

 ** _clm_**

 ** _clm_**

 ** _clm_**

 ** _clm_**

 ** _clm_**

 ** _-_** His boots crunched through the gravel with each fall.

He looked out across the darkened waves of the canal to his right- the foggy outline of Boston on both sides, ruined, lonely, dilapidated and forgotten- plagued with nightmares.

Here he was trying to be the hero again- even though he would never admit it, and he would never put himself in that light because it scared him even more than the uncertainty, and it scared him just as much as the thought of dying.

Here he was, trying to be a hero, and as looked across this dead, barren world- and each time he killed, and killed, and killed, and KILLED, the living things that now called it home- he felt a piece of his understanding to the reasoning of his WANT of saving it, fall away.

Sanford didn't know if Earth was worth saving anymore- if it even had a place anymore, for good people, for justice, for heroes.

Sanford had always reasoned with himself that he was just trying to survive.

But a mere survivor didn't risk his skin for innocent people.

A mere survivor didn't dive into the dark and face things that were the stuff of pure, unadulterated horror to thwart pure evil that walked the Earth.

A mere survivor didn't try to save the people they cared about the most- because a mere survivor had no one but themselves.

Sanford wasn't just a survivor, he had never been just a survivor.

He looked across the canal- found it strikingly ironic to see the sun reemerging from the clouds overhead- and a upside-down pyramid of pink start to scythe down the water towards him from the horizon line.

This whole day showed what Hancock had said when they first found the Deathclaw- when Nyx had literally fallen from the sky.

Worse than a pair of handcuffs. Huh. Interesting analogy.

Now he was thinking about what a pair of handcuffs actually felt like if they were on you- he didn't know, he'd never had a pair slapped on him before.

Sanford grinned briefly.

Simple, stupid thoughts. He liked simple, stupid thoughts.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

The Vertibird pilot had regained control exactly eighty seconds after the flak shot damaged the right engine.

The pilot managed to pull out of the spin- arch the nose to the right, and literally tug the craft through a neck-breaking U-turn, before stabilizing in a drawling hover several feet away from the closest rooftops. Laslar felt like his armor was vibrating- like a gong would have after-tremors from being whacked with an object.

He clawed on the rim of the troop bay- his gauntlets, his gun, clattering against the steel. Luft and the other three men were out of their restraints, and trotting over, bumping into each other in a frenzied, dizzied hurry- to reach him and pull him in.

"-NO! NO!" Laslar barked at the top of his lungs- his eyes now tremoring too. "-T-TELL THAT FUCKING PILOT TO LOWER TO THE STREET!"

Luft stood bolt upright from where he had knelt- he stumbled over the cockpit arch, shouted something into it- and in a few seconds, Laslar's foggy mind processed the feeling of movement again- the Veritibird started to lower.

Laslar grunted as his muscles, his whole body- began to complain from how hard he had tightened up during the moments of peril- he tried to angle his helmet over his angular pauldron to glance side-ways at the stree below.

His armored legs were dangling down there beneath him- and the concrete was getting larger.

Smoke was pluming out from glowing tears in the Vertibird's right engine- there were plates of metal that had been punctured with what looked like marks from some fell beast's huge claws, and entire sections of armor were torn off.

The propellor was making a whining screech, and Laslar could swear it was porpoising a bit in its blindingly fast rotation of the prop and the blades.

The craft shifted to an uneasy stop half a story above the ground level- Laslar shifted in his hang from the bay's floor- his arms were beginning to burn- and he glanced at his soldiers, at Luft, when they all peered down at him.

"-Don't just STAND there!" Laslar snapped. "Drop in a different location! Go!"

The Superintendent's gauntlets hissed as they slid from the titanium of the bay's floor- and Laslar fell the remainder of the distance to the street below.

 ** _PMMKK!_**

-He vanished in a belch of dust, kicked concrete chips.

The Superintedent rose from a single knee to the ruptured pavement- he rolled his shoulders, brandished his Tri-Archer Rifle, and stepped from the crumbling mess he had made in the center of the two lanes.

The Vertibird released a reverberation into the air as it rose, swung over a few rooftops to the right where the engines started to lose volume in Laslar's hearing. He looked around the street he had landed in- and the corner of the museum building was visible to him around the bend of an intersection- as was the bridge it was built on.

Laslar would have to cross the bridge over to the grounds where the Minutemen were held up- he at least was satisfied that a bunch of cars and a passenger bus were laid out all over the bridge- that would give him cover.

He didn't take too much caution with getting there- he threw himself into a sprint down the street- ran around the corner of the nearest building, and quickly started to cover ground out in the open. He reached the mouth of the bridge- and his life signature scanners started to flare as the militiamen became close enough for detection.

Eight flaring life sigs'- that meant there were wounded, and they weren't a threat- but there were twenty heart beats that were in perfect order. Laslar actually was a little disappointed at the lack of potential kills.

If this had been a few years ago in California and Nevada- Laslar would've had groups of ten, twenty, thirty guys with him against NCR units of eighty, ninety, sometimes a hundred- there hadn't been many instances in his career where he'd killed that many people before at once.

New England was too tame for his tastes.

The Superintendent was used to operating with a unit, or a squad- having soldiers to give orders to, and a team to work with... However, he was trained to work alone, and, before the Enclave in Texas and Utah- he ALWAYS worked alone.

This was a bit of a flash from the past- the only difference was who he was fighting, what he was equipped with, and the fact he was surrounded by cars and an urban megascape- not open fields, badlands and the occassional farm.

Cover worked the same though, no matter what it was- because if you understood the weapons of the enemy, and your own weapons- you knew what would protect you and what wouldn't.

He was confident the militiamen weren't carrying guns capable of shredding automobiles- though, they apparently had been able to nearly knock his 'bird out of the sky, so... Who knew, maybe the infantry had a wicked armament for themselves.

The cars were the best chance he had, the ONLY option- so he went with it.

Laslar heard shouting- he heard screaming too, not screaming for orders being given, or for any kind of movement confirmation- it was the pained kind of screaming- that must have been some of the wounded he had picked up.

"I thought I was finished with urban warfare when I left fucking D.C..." Laslar grumbled as he peered around the edge of the passenger bus's front- right above the headlight. "-Someone confirm that 'bird didn't crash, God damn it."

" _Vertibird's engine is badly damaged,_ " -Luft reported through the communications link. " _We dropped off two streets over- Wesbury Avenue._ "

"I'm on the bridge," Laslar saw some humanoid shadows moving about in the amber glow of a fire still brewing in the museum's front property- all the dead plants in one of the garden sections that had lit up like timber wood. "I count twenty militia contacts."

" _-We have a location for an AA' gun- looks like a 90'. Right in front of the Boston Library, behind your position._ "

"Kill it."

" _Should I detach Romo and Jack to help you with those fucks?_ "

"They're MINE. You have the gun, Luft."

" _Affirmative._ "

Laslar rounded the side of the bus.

He got a few feet further before he could see the group of militia in detail- and right in the middle of their group, was the Corporal who had resisted him- this... ADDACE, primate.

Laslar for a brief second allowed his mind to become consumed in a rage-induced reverie.

He decided that no matter what happened, he wanted to tear this man's throat out. With his bare hands. He fixated on this idea.

Laslar knelt behind the hood of a sedan- he raised his Tri-Archer- and even though he had a clear as day, plain line of sight, that if he had followed through with firing- would've clipped right into Addace's breast- he instead moved his iron-sights over, and shot the man next to Addace.

 ** _CLK CLK!_** -A single shot, three bolts of green were tossed out.

He could see, even from the distance- Addace leap away from the still-standing corpse of his man as blood that was not his own speckled his face, his coat- and the headless body tumbled to its knees, and then across its chest on the ground- crimson catapulting from the carbon-burnt remains of the neck.

" _...I see him!..._ " -Somebody shouted.

" _...Behind the car! Bridge!... Fire...!_ "

It was like child's play for Laslar- all he did was duck down a bit lower- and he waited a mere second before metallic shrieks echoed in the hearing filters of his helmet.

Bullets bounced off the sedan all over the place- they kicked dust from the street- a few Laser Musket beams thrashed out, burnt welts into the hood, smacked a hubcap off one of the ancient wheels.

Laslar had fought entire armies that were better trained, and better coordinated then this- without their big guns, against Enclave superiority- these freedom fighters were a bad joke.

The Superintendent stood at a precise interval of time where the gunfire slackened for a mere second- he foot-worked to a car ahead of the sedan, raising his rifle, firing once, and then ducking behind the newer, less damaged car to the other's flank.

Addace was trying to reestablish a firing line when three more bolts of plasma dropped two more of his guys with direct hits to their chests- the green energy swirled in the air with dispelled gore, and the bodies tumbled back with fissures torn in their breasts.

"TAKE AIM!" Addace shouted- raising his Musket.

"-Take aim!"

"TAKE aim!" His men repeated- another bolt of plasma cut one's cry short- and he flew back between two of his friends- dead.

"FIRE!" Addace commanded.

 ** _PMPMPM_**

 ** _PM_**

 ** _PM_**

-Only five Muskets this time roared fury to the Enclave foe.

The Superintendent had already cleared the mouth of the bridge by the museum's fringes- he swung behind the girth of an overturned pickup- and the laser shots slapped into the underside right by where he had been, and they were ineffective, obviously.

Addace gripped the handle for his Musket's crank- he wound it a few times, sweating profusely.

"-FALL BACK! Establish a line more back!"

His men didn't have to be told twice.

There were a few guys with assault rifles, carbines- they rose from hiding positions behind the ruined museum steps to cover the fleeing line of militiamen and their Corporal- projectile rounds peppering the truck down the bridge's way.

Laslar stood out of cover- he ignored some glancing hits that were represented with little more than kicked sparks off the plating of his suit- he sprayed the stairs with plasma- he killed a few people, and the others kept their heads down.

Addace and his Musketeers ran for a car that was on the sidewalk nearby the still burning garden section half his unit had been slaughtered in- the Corporal fell to a kneel behind the car's passenger door, and the labored breathing of his fellows was soon all around him as his men did similar.

"-JACKIE! Cover us for one more minute!" Addace called over to the stairs.

-See, sergeant 'Jack' Jackie would've called over a confirmatory order for it- but, Jackie was already dead by the time Addace's voice reached the side of the concrete steps.

Jackie' , the stoic, burly guy that was in the center of the militiamen behind the concrete of the stairwell- had just shoved a new clip in his rifle- had opened his mouth to call out to Addace, when he heard a thud on the steps above his cranium.

He, and the five other soldiers around him looked up- some of them mid-reload.

This titanic man of steel stood and looked over the side of the stairwell at them- he brandished a plasma pistol in one clenching gauntlet- and a revving blade made of chain-links in the other.

Laslar opened his mouth- and he SCREAMED, like some kind of beast. His Ripper roared in his clasp- and the pistol jabbed forth, barked once- blew open sergeant Jackie's head like a melon.

His men panicked, covered in their leader's blood- they broke like common rabble- and the Superintendent landed amidst them- the Ripper cleaved back and forth, drawling muddy trails of red with each swipe- and effectively ending two lives one after the other.

Addace saw the slaughter taking place- he sneered- aimed over the sedan's trunk- and fired at the Enclave warrior.

 ** _SHSKSKSK..._** -A previously unseen, neon-green, pulsating barrier flickered over the Superintendent's form as his refraction field generators removed the annoyance of the carbon energy before he even had to worry about it glancing off his suit.

Laslar hadn't even blinked from the munitions- he was too busy tearing out his Ripper from the screaming, convulsing woman before him, at his feet.

The militiamen's hollers were cut short- he wrenched his weapon free of her chest, and shoved the corpse away from his boots' paths like a ragdoll. Laslar snarled- canine like -ran in an arm-flailing sprint towards the car nearby.

Addace was still trying to crank his Musket- all of his men didn't even shoot yet- they saw the Superintendent, lined up their Muskets clumsily, and fired all at once.

Six beams of laser energy bounced off the street, and whisked away in Laslar's refraction fields.

The Minutemen scattered like mice under the boot- the squad ran.

Laslar left cracks in the street as he compressed his weight into his boots- and, Power Armor and all- he leapt through the air, and landed right on the top of the cab of the car.

 ** _CSSK!_** -The whole vehicle rattled, and indented right down the middle.

A Minuteman flung himself away from the car as Laslar landed on his heels right in front of him- and the Superintendent screamed at the top of his lungs again- the Ripper swept in a low dash, and the fallen, scrambling man's face was slashed in two flaps of ragged gore.

\- Laslar raised his pistol- fired repeatedly.

 ** _CLKCLKCLKC_**

-He killed the rest of Addace's men with shots in the back.

Laslar snickered.

He watched the last corpse fall with green and red trailing from the center back- and he saw Corporal Addace himself, having dropped his hat, dropped his Musket- with arms arcing on both sides, RUNNING, like a child, down the Charles River Dam Bridge, not even trying to delve for cover.

Laslar curled back his lip.

 _Disgusting._

 ** _CLK_**

-A single plasma bolt caught Addace in the calf.

He screamed, and he went down- rolling on the pavement - the Corporal crying out in defiance- hands quivering over the burnt hole in the back of his leg.

A shadow eventually loomed over him, blocking out the early day sun.

Mouth open in a silent scream- Addace looked up.

Laslar's gauntlet's quivered- he dropped both of his weapons, and they clattered on the pavement on either side of him- he bent down and snapped outwards with one hand, wrapped his steel fingers around Addace's neck.

"-COME HERE- YOU LITTLE FUCK-!" Laslar barked through grit teeth.

Addace gurgled whilst the Superintendent clenched his fingers- wrenched the Corporal up, and off the ground, off his feet- and dangled the man face-to-face with himself.

Laslar took his other gauntlet and jammed it into the space above his other- he squeezed his fingers, blood started to bubble up and around them- Addace made a squeaking sound.

Laslar kept squeezing until he heard a squelching noise- and then he tore his one hand away.

 ** _PLSK-pknk..._**

-Addace's arms went limp on either side, dangling loosely with the rest of his body.

Laslar dropped the corpse- it sprawled out at his feet.

Then he flicked away the stringing, crimson mass of ruined flesh he had wrought from the Corporal's throat, with bloody metal fingers, onto the street- it made a plopping sound.

Laslar reared his head back.

"-rrrrrrRRRRRRAAAAGGGGHHHH!" -The Texan Terror reveled in a street filled with the cadavers of the his prey. He felt young again.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

The militiamen wielding and operating the AA' cannon had wired it back up to the Protectrons that they relied on to tug it- the robots had just started to take their first steps- the wheels on the gun's carriage squeaked, and hissed against the pavement.

-Suddenly, a bolt of crimson, carbon energy clipped into the squad sergeant's forehead- and the poor boy's face imploded, and he tumbled back onto the street, dead.

The gun operators cried out to each other to hit the deck- and then an array of green blobs flung out, burnt holes and gashes of black all over the gun's controls and cranks, and killed all three of the Minutemen before they could hop to cover.

The bodies rolled all down the big gun's sides- the carriage jolted to a halt as more plasma fire wrecked the Protectrons towing it.

The robots sparked, belched soot- rattled to the ground and collapsed all at once.

A few moments later, Sergeant Luft and squad Seduun emerged from the interior of a nearby storefront. The Enclave soldiers passed the gun- examined it, one of the men found a body still moving and shot it in the gut for good measure.

Luft lead the team in weaves through the cars gridding the Charles Bridge. They all noted with relief, that the gunfire had stopped by the museum grounds.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Laslar didn't even bother wasting yet more time checking the perimeter of the grounds of the front of the museum- he stepped over the corpses of the fallen militia, he scaled the steps that still were in relatively walkable condition.

Unknown to him was that the smashed-in hole he stepped through in the front doors of the entrance wing of the building, was made a day ago by a specific subject of his- in the moment, it was just a place to enter without having to ram through.

The Superintendent's boots- and his heavy breathing, ragged- echoed throughout the entrance wing of the Museum of Science- he glanced at the triceratops skeleton, all the floors visible in the massive lobby chamber.

His scanners picked up life signatures- and he turned to the left, and stomped across the floor towards the source.

He ducked through a doorframe- and right there in front of him, was a militiaman, garbed in the standard overcoat- he had a white trifold on his head, marked with a poorly painted red cross.

There was hissing against the tile floor- Laslar saw the man dragging a groaning, burn-wounded fellow of his across the ground, to lean him up against the wall in this new exhibit room branching from the lobby.

The medic was a skinny man- darker skinned- he was panicking, Laslar could tell- his breathing hitched, and got louder at seeing another living being, ESPECIALLY, a member of the group he was currently doing away with.

The militiaman medic had three other guys in this room- one of them had a trail of blood briefly ahead of himself- and it was obvious he had done some grabbing-and-running with the wounded outside to get them all here.

Too bad it was for nothing.

The medic stood bolt upright- eyes wide- hands in the air- when he saw the titan standing in the center of the room behind him.

"-I-I'm not armed-!" The medic sputtered. "-They're wounded! I'm just trying to-"

 ** _CLK CLK_**

-Laslar put two bolts in his gut with the pistol.

The man was still standing as he curled his arms and his shoulders over his belly- gasping- wheezing. Laslar stepped over, and the medic fell on his side, dead.

The three wounded, propped against the wall on the ground- they didn't even look up at the Enclave warrior. They were all suffering burn wounds- their uniforms were scorched, ruined- one of them would never walk again.

 ** _CLK CLK CLK_** -Laslar shot each of them in the chest and moved on.

He came across the very same concrete staircase to the basement level- of course, unknown to him at first- he jogged down the steps, into the blackness- and he went through the open industrial doorway down below.

The transition from the museum's above levels to the underground industrial tunnels was quick- and Laslar was so concerned with finding the evidence that had been delayed from him- that he didn't care to consider why the tunnels existed in the first place.

He saw the first archway on the right- he stomped down the hallway, rounded the bend- aimed his pistol inside a cell, and when it cleared for targets- he found himself looking up at the swaying array of storage containers- military grade.

Their seals were in a pile all over the chamber- and there was a mound of... Corpses, in the center of the cell.

They looked human.

But... Something was off about them...

...They were white, porcelain white- circuits and electronic ruin hung from the wounds torn into their metal, synthetic bodies...

They were synths.

The Minutemen must have found and piled them.

But the wounds on them obviously shown they were not done in by Laser Musket OR bullet.

Those were claw marks.

Laslar grinned- still breathing heavily.

FINALLY.

"-Luft?" Laslar grinned into his comm' link.

" _-Gun crew's dead, Superintendent, closing in on you._ "

"-I found something worthwile."

" _What is it?_ "

"Dead synthetics. Killed by our 'Claw."

" _You think we could trace DNA?_ "

"Aye."

This was too good to be true. They would track the Deathclaw by tracing DNA leftovers. A sinch.

Laslar Seduun was a happy man at this moment.

-And then, out of nowhere, as if his day couldn't get anymore exciting- there was a clacking sound of a discharged weapon, the flickering of his refractor fields, he stumbled forwards when it felt like a brick had bounced off the back of his cuirass.

Laslar went wide eyed- he snarled like an animal, and spun around with his pistol aimed at the doorframe.

Standing in the shadows of the hallway was a sleek, humanoid visage- garbed in white, glossy armor, with a head hidden beneath a detail-lacking helmet of synthetic metal- in its hands, it held a two-handed, scoped rifle- an Ion Shot.

Laslar's rage flared.

Both combatants lowered their weapons.

This was... Complicated.

The spindly little bastard had shot him. Laslar wanted to kill him. It took a sort of ungodly strength to refrain from trying.

"-Misidentification confirmed. Negative, not Brotherhood." The synthetic droned with a monotone, male voice beneath its helmet. "Enacting ceasefire."

"...INSTITUTE," Laslar sneered- wheeling around, and jabbing the barrel of his pistol. "-Who are you?! Answer me or I'll break the truce and shoot you fuckin' DEAD!"

"XM-988, Courser of the Commonwealth Institute of Technology, Secession Sect." The synthetic reported, dull- almost uncaring the fact it had pumped an ion round into the Superintendent's back seconds ago. "The Enclave violates many pacts with military operations this far north."

"-FUCK the pacts!" Laslar yelled. "We haven't interfered with a SINGLE, Institute op' the entire time we've been here! I'm not starting ANOTHER fuckin' war, because your Director can't keep his dick in his pants!"

"I've recieved orders not to attempt further hostilities." The Courser stated- not moving from the doorframe. "The Secession does not wish armed conflict with Enclave forces."

"...Bah..." Laslar snapped after a pause- he lowered his pistol slightly. "-Why are there synthetics down here? How'd the militia get them? Answer me."

"Intelligence Planter in this area has been terminated- synthetic subjects have been terminated- both by foreign causes."

"Foreign causes? What the fuck does that mean?"

"We believe we can mutually benefit each other- Enclave and Institute."

"...What the hell are you talking about?"

"We have reason to believe that you are searching for a unique specimen that is not native to the Commonwealth, but present in it."

"...What are you saying?"

"We have apprehended the perpetraitor to these units' destruction. I have been dispatched by Director 'Ordy' to recover the remains for recycling processes."

"...And?"

"The Secession would be willing to release this captive."

"In exchange for what, you two-faced prick?"

"Director Ordy has not confirmed. I assume military aid and or action against the Division."

"...You have my Deathclaw?"

"I can repeat organic specifications if needed for exact identification."

"...No. You have my Deathclaw."

"- _Superintendent, I'm picking up another signature in there with you- robotic, are you engaged?_ "

"No, Luft," Laslar grumbled. "This just got even more complicated."

" _What happened?_ "

"I'll explain it later." Laslar cut the link- he eyed the Courser. "-If you give me that Deathclaw, I'll solve your little civil war, quickly, too."

"Director Ordy is eager for an arrangement."

"I'm sure that bigheaded bastard is."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	54. Chapter 53

**CHAPTER 53**

 **No One Gets in except the Metal Men.**

* * *

Sanford bore his teeth- tore back with his gauntlet, jabbed with his armored heel- he sent the sparking, twitching body of the android assailant tumbling onto the street before him.

Undeterred in his crusade to save his friends- there were clusters of synthetic bodies that were strewn in a path up to the point he lead to- sprawled behind the cars and corners they took cover behind, slashed with cutlass marks where they stood in the open.

Sanford Tobs hacked and shot his way through the entire unit- his un-quenched fear of what these monsters were doing to his companions- and his anger added in with it, driving him forwards to swat aside anything that got in his way.

The Institute obviously knew he was coming- and Sanford now had another reason to be so angry at himself as he continued to trek through the lanes of ruined cars down the main road- because this location that Hancock's signal was coming from, he knew it.

The ruins of the pre-War Commonwealth Institute of Technology- the university for the brightest of the bright.

Sanford didn't need confirmation to understand that Hancock had lead him to a location that hundreds of people throughout Boston and beyond, had sought and failed to reach. He was about to uncover the place where the 'Boogeymen' of Boston had been able to terrorize people from, undisturbed for years and years.

Sanford planned on killing every single thing he found inside the C.I.T ruins- be it man, synth, robot- or whatever other kind of deranged shit these evil people were utilizing. He was set on it- he didn't stop to observe, search, or look at any of the buildings or lots he passed down...

...What the hell was this street called again? He knew it, he and his father had driven down it a few times when he was a kid...

...-He saw a dented, green street sign on one of the sidewalk corners, and readable on the scorched metal of the rectangular tag at its top, was- _Vassar Street_ -Ah, there we go, now he knew.

Sanford frowned at the inanimate object whilst he jogged by.

It looked like such a long road ahead.

A strip of burnt, cracked concrete- blank of the chalk marks riddling it before the bombs, strewn with ruined cars, buses and trucks... The wind whistled through the lot of it all quietly.

Sanford didn't trust merely his sight anymore- he hadn't since he'd gotten in this X-01 suit, the scanners now played a huge part in his arms tactics, and they influenced how and when he maneuvered. Fighting and advancing through the wastes was so different then how it had been before all of this.

The last month had seen Sanford's life evolve in a way he had never expected, and never anticipated- he had a great weapon of power, mass destruction, and it allowed it him to magnify his fighting potential- he had a Deathclaw, a DEATHCLAW, he would've thought it nonsense had he not seen it a month ago.

He had two, for lack of a better word- COUNTRIES, coming after him- because really, what else would you call the Enclave? The Institute? At a bare bones minimum.

They were societies of people that worked with each other, acted independently as global units- they alienated themselves from people outside their walls, and both had undoubtedly become xenophobic supremacists in their quests for domination.

Sanford couldn't understand the thinking behind it all...

...How did you just... Gather dust behind walls, or underground, or high in a tower and just... WATCH the world burn, and in addition, how did you do that and then ADD to it? What kind of person was that?

 _A person who should be dead._ -Sanford would reason.

Armed, unarmed, whichever these people at the Institute were... Sanford was going to kill them, and he didn't care if it damned him to hell or not.

The conversation with Mills in Diamond came back to him.

Who even knew if there WAS a God anymore? If there was no God, there was no Heaven, right? And if there was no Heaven, there was no Hell, right?

"Do you believe in God?" -Liham had asked him a long time ago, several years ago when Sanford was just getting his feet wet with relations between him and Diamond.

"I don't know." Sanford had responded.

"Do ya' believe in God, Tobs?" -Doctor Higgins, the gruff, kind old man doctor, had asked him once in the past.

"I don't know." Sanford answered.

"You believe in God?"

"I don't know."

"'Believe in God, man?"

"I don't know."

"Do you, believe in God?"

"I. DON'T. KNOW. ANYMORE."

...God.

...Did he believe in God?

What a fucked question.

What a simplistically, ugly, FUCKED, question.

Did he believe in God?

Well how about this- WHAT, did God stand for? Strip away all the religious divisions, strip away what some said and others didn't- what were the bare bones things, that God stood for? According to history? To tales spoken to children and to children's children?

God stood for peace, love, equality, friendship, justice, loyalty, strength in the heart. Right?

Isn't that what God stood for? Loving your fellow human being, releasing temptation? Doing away with evil?

That was it, right?

So where the fuck was he?

Where the fuck, was GOD? How did he, she, it, even PLAY into this, in any sort of way?

Huh?

Where was God when the ICBM's started flying?

Where was God when chaos and anarchy was rampant across post-apocalyptic America?

Where was God when murder, and rape, and theft, and mutilation, and death, and mutation, were rampant, EVERYWHERE?

Where was God when Sanford's parents were taken from him?

Where was God, when Sanford couldn't save people out here?

Where was God, when Sanford had to KILL people out here?

Where was God?

How about you all shut your mouths, stop asking obvious redundancies, and answer THAT question? How about you drop some of the concern whether God was there or not, and how about you try asking- where in the living fuck WAS he, she, it?

If God existed, why has the Earth been turned into the very Hell such 'Salvation'- as quoted, was supposed to save you from?

If God existed, why had everyone's loved ones been taken from them?

If God existed, how could so many parents have their children taken from them? How could so many children have their parents stolen? Their fathers? Their mothers? Brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins, friends, husbands and wives and girlfriends and boyfriends and grandparents and EVERY, SINGLE, THING, that ever mattered to them?

Where was God, when all of that happened?

Could anyone answer that?

Could anyone?

Could YOU?

...Sanford was brought to the same answer for yet another different question, the same answer he gave concerning his parents, concerning himself, concerning Hancock, the Wasteland, why he did what he did, and with Nyx...

 _I don't know._

And he didn't.

He didn't know anymore.

He didn't know anymore and he hadn't known since HE had stopped asking questions.

See, Sanford had tried so long to lose his questions, those stupid questions, like the- 'Are you happy?' -shitshow, and... Look, he had indeed lost them, but he had also lost his answers.

Life out here was the very embodiment of a nightmare, no matter what, and it was always in some shape or form.

It left you wanting, it left you angry, and mourning. You worked so hard to achieve little, little things, and every time something was taken from you, it took twice as long to get it back, and sometimes you could never get it back.

...THAT, was what Sanford was fighting to save some days.

He was fighting to save-

He looked around the street, the buildings.

-a graveyard.

Earth was a world that was dead.

He was here to kill things, what difference did it make who they were? Institute, Enclave, highwaymen, mercenary? They were all out for blood, and Sanford was the only thing keeping them from people who hadn't been broken by the hopelessness.

Sanford thought of something, walking down the ruined Vassar Street of Boston City.

...Even if all these things had happened, that didn't mean there was no God.

God didn't control this world. People did.

It was the power of humanity, something God could never hold the reigns too, something God would never WANT the reigns too.

This was all the choice of people.

It was Sanford's choice to do what he did every day, because he felt it was right.

Saving innocent people... Killing crazed killers... was right... right?

Sanford huffed and shut his eyes.

He HATED, when he started thinking. He wanted to stop thinking. So he did.

He opened his eyes.

-And he saw a humanoid shape standing in the street right ahead of where he was.

Sanford stopped short.

He blinked inside his helmet.

A few feet away from him, right next to a rusty minivan's rear- was a Protectron model robot.

Sanford was frozen- his heart pounding, wind whistling overhead.

The bulky, rounded form of the machine whined as the hip servos carried the torso in a back-forth glance of its connected head unit- the robot seemingly observed the street in a few complete sweeps, and angled itself towards Sanford.

The young man slowly raised his rifle, and aimed it at the robot's breast.

" ** _-HOSTILITIES... ARE NOT... NEEDED._** " -Came the drawling, buzz-filled, monotone voice from the Protectron's microphone emitters- Sanford realized the rusty, dirty machine was painted... crimson, and yellow, and... purple, in some sections, like a mishmashed clown outfit, almost. " ** _MY NAME... IS... RUX, ENVOY... OF COUNT... BLAD... OF WALLACHIA, ROMANIA. I BEAR... GOOD TIDINGS._** "

-...Was this fucking thing trying to talk like someone from the 15th century? Was that even correct terminology from such a time period?

Count 'Blad'? Of ROMANIA? What the hell was this?

Maybe God was real and he had a sense of humor.

"Who are you?" Sanford asked stupidly, keeping his gun leveled.

" ** _...I...AM... AMBASSADOR... RUX, ENVOY OF-_** "

"-Forget I asked- what do you want?"

" ** _...COUNT BLAD... OF THE HIGH... COURT... OF WALLACHIA... REQUESTS YOUR... COMPANY... AT A ROYAL... BANQUET._** "

"...Do you mean, Count VLAD?" Sanford tried, raising a brow. "Like, Vlad Dracula?"

" ** _...INCORRECT. COUNT BLAD... RULER OF WALLACHIA._** "

"...Okay," Sanford smiled. "Listen to me, little robot, I don't have TIME for this. Tell ole' 'Blad' he can kiss my foot. Get out of my way."

" ** _...I HAVE... BEEN ORDERED... TO ACTIVATE... A SPECIALIZED, RELOCATION DEVICE... FROM THE COURTS... OF THE CZAR._** "

"Yeah, well, take your activation device and shove it up your-"

-The Protectron's chest whined, revved, two plates folded aside, and, extending from the black- steam belching interior of its center torso chassis- a metal hook with two prongs revealed itself in the light of the day-

 ** _whhhhmmmmm- CHK_** -It jolted still. It held something in the two prongs.

Sanford's mouth flapped open.

"-Okay, nononono, DON'T, do that, listen, listen," Sanford lowered his gun. "-Be a good robot and keep your shit together for me, alright? ALRIGHT?"

-Clasped in the Protectron's claw, was a United States Army, Type T-6, Ordnance 88, 'Chalk' Warhead.

Why was Sanford so concerned about this cone-shaped horror that was mere the size of his head?

It was a round that the Chinese had HATED, during the Great War.

They hated it, because it was a molecular compressed round of chemically altered white phosphorous, that was deigned to be propelled by a miniature atomic 'Burst' when the round landed. It could melt steel. Sanford hadn't seen one in YEARS.

His suit wouldn't save him from THAT.

Whoever had programmed this Protectron, was out of their frikkin' gourd.

" ** _...YOU HAVE... RECONSIDERED, THIS INVITATION?_** " The Protection hadn't moved this whole time.

"-Y-YEAH, yeah I have- take me to this... this BLAD, fella', alright? Just, just put that away!"

" ** _...SPLENDID. FOLLOW ME... GOOD SIR._** "

 ** _whhhm-THNK clk_** -The claw whined back inside its hold, the two panels clicked shut- the super-phosphorous warhead was sealed away inside the robot once more.

The Protectron spiraled around, and started lumbering, one step at a time, down the way ahead.

Now, Sanford could've just sprinted, and shot the thing from afar. He HAD, a chance to just break the unit and move on.

But as he watched the rounded machine lumber back and forth in its clumsy walk pattern, he thought about something, and that was- who carried around THAT kind of ordnance?

Maybe if Sanford went along with this... Maybe whoever this jerkoff was, had even BIGGER explosives than that? Sanford could kill him, take them, and use them on the Institute. Plus, Hancock would be very happy to experiment with a new assortment of pyrotechnics.

Sanford rolled his jaw- he glanced ahead down the long, long road he had been following, and kept his eyes at its horizon, followed a few steps behind the Protection robot.

This, was going to be interesting.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

The robot eventually brought him through an alleyway path, with brick buildings on either side- and Sanford kept a good mind to stay several feet away from the Protectron whilst he followed it. He considered a few times, simply shooting it, and being done with it... But that warhead had him interested.

Who knew, maybe this 'Blad' fellow, was hanging out in an old pre-War armory. Worth a shot, in Sanford's eyes.

He tried asking the robot some questions-

"-Who is this 'Blad' guy, anyway?"

 ** _clk_**

 ** _clk_**

 ** _clk_**

 ** _clk_**

-The only answer he got was the robot's rounded feet rising, and falling, rising, and falling, rising...

"Where are you leading me? Can you answer THAT?"

 ** _clk_**

 ** _clk_**

 ** _clk_**

-Was this thing just malfunctioning? What if, there WAS no Blad, and this Blad had been dead for years, and the robot was on some broken repeat function?

Sanford slowly narrowed his eyes, and he found himself aiming from the hip with his newly improved rifle, at the Protectron's back.

Was he just discombobulated THAT much to think that this was a good idea? It was a gut feeling, sure, but...

" ** _...COUNT BLAD... RESIDES IN THE... PIEUMONT... CASTLE... NORTH... OF HERE._** " -The robot's droning voice groaned from inside its broken, rusty frame, with the spattered paint across some of the plates.

"...Pieumont..." Sanford muttered. He'd heard that before. "...Isn't that a HOTEL?"

 ** _clk_**

 ** _clk_**

 ** _clk_**

 ** _clk_**

"-Oh for God's sake... Dumbass thing."

 ** _SHSK!_**

-Sanford flinched when the alley broke for a small, enclosed lot to their right, with the rear of an apartment building overlooking it, with a small brick wall barring around it in a square- and one of the brick posts belched out an arm of pebbles right between him and the Protectron.

He instinctively ducked over to the side for the brick fencing- **_SHM!_** -another Ion round flew right over his helmet and punched into the wall of the building to the left of the alley.

"-SHIT!" He cursed- checking his scanners, and picking up multiple robotic contacts in the apartment building across the enclosed lot. He glanced over the top of the brick fence wall, and he saw a white, thin figure aiming a long rifle out one of the second story windows.

He ducked back right as another Ion round slapped into the wall on the other side.

Synthetic snipers. The last two days were really working out to a case of sucking.

Sanford looked out at the Protectron 'Escort' he had acquired- and he just shook his head as the mindless machine just kept on trotting down the way, ignoring the sounds of gunfire, ignoring the fact the person it was leading was pinned behind a friggin' low wall right next to it.

"HEY!" Sanford barked at the machine- it kept walking until it was behind another building ahead, next to the lot, safe from the Ion shots raining on the poor man. "-WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!"

" ** _...PLEASE... KEEP UP... GOOD SIR._** " -He barely heard the robot's voice in the distance.

"Are you FREAKING kidding me?!"

" ** _...LORD... BLAD... WILL BECOME IMPATIENT, GOOD SIR._** "

"-'Good Sir'- isn't even a fuckin' Romanian thing- GAH!" Sanford barked in anger- he switched out his guns, put his Laser rifle on his hip, slung the bolt action into his hands- he aimed over the top of the wall, and fired once.

 ** _CLAK_**

-One of the many synths in the four second story windows of the building, tossed back inside with sparks trailing from its head.

An Ion round bounced off of his pauldron.

 ** _wh-SHK!_** -He heard the metal vibrate in the air- his arm jerked back.

"-DAMN IT!" Sanford cursed, ducking back down into cover.

" ** _...PLEASE, STAY ON THE PATH... LORD BLAD... WILL BECOME-_** "

"-OH, FUCK YOU!" Sanford screamed over- popping up again, firing once- **_CLAK_** -and killing another sharpshooter in one of the windows- another headshot.

" ** _...THERE IS... NO NEED... FOR HOSTILITIES-_** "

"-SHUT UP! YOU'RE WORSE THAN HANCOCK! THERE-" **_CLAK_** -Sanford tugged the bolt back, lined up another shot, ignored an Ion round sailing past his other shoulder into the dirt behind him. "-THERE I SAID IT! I FREAKIN' SAID IT!"

" ** _...PLEASE... STAY ON-_** "

 ** _CLAK_** -Sanford got the last synth when it tried to switch windows inside the building. His scanners went quiet. The Power Armored man huffed in sheer rage- stood from his crouch, and raised his arms in the air for the robot.

" ** _...LORD BLAD'S CASTLE... IS JUST AHEAD... PLEASE... STAY ON... THE PATH..._** "

"-Yeah-yeah-yeah, you and your God damned path..." Sanford snapped, standing, trotting over to the Protectron in the space ahead, keeping his eyes on the apartment across the lot to the right. "-What the hell is wrong with you? Don't you have a GUN somewhere in your head? Most of you tin-cans do."

" ** _...THE COURTS... OF THE HIGHEST... CONSIDER ARMED ENVOYS... MOST INTOLERABLE... ACROSS NOT ONLY EUROPE... BUT THE EXPANSES OF... AFRICA... AND THE... HOLY LAND._** "

Sanford stared long and hard at the Protectron model. It stood there, angled towards him, un-moving.

"...Just shut up, and take me, to BLAD." He snarled through grit teeth.

" ** _...THIS WAY, GOOD SIR._** " The Protectron garbled- spun around, started lumbering down the alley.

 ** _clk_**

 ** _clk_**

 ** _clk_**

 ** _clk_**

-Sanford clenched a fist in the air towards the robot's head, shook it violently as such that his suit creaked, and gave off an infuriated- 'GRR!' -and followed with heavy stomps to his stride.

He let his bolt action hang one-handed by his hip, his eyes were locked to the back of the lumbering robot for so long, that he didn't even see the alley break away for a quick crossing of a single street, and subsequently, a halt for a pair of opened, wrought iron gates.

" ** _...WE HAVE... ARRIVED... GOOD SIR._** " The robot croaked.

Sanford looked past the glowing dome of the Protectron's main head unit- and across a brief parking lot, a broken, stone circular fountain, was a rectangular building of yellows and whites- with a shattered, green roof.

It had five stories, was a contrast against the detail lacking blue sky behind it- and a faded, metal sign above the fifth story middle windows, read in green letters- _PIEUMONT HOTEL, BED AND BREAKFAST._

-Sanford snorted, and saw a white staircase at the foot of the building that connected up to a set of double revolving doors with trims of silver.

 ** _clk_**

 ** _clk_**

 ** _clk_**

-The Protectron started to waddle out into the empty parking lot of the haunting Pieumont Hotel- and Sanford glanced around at the building a few more times before slowly following, dutifully.

" ** _...AT THE GATES OF CASTLE... BRAN... WE NOW STAND._** " -The pair stood before the inactive, cracked water fountain that took up the majority of the pavement in a brief plaza before the hotel stairs- the machine turned to him, and sat there idly.

Sanford rolled his jaw again, glanced between the Protectron, the museum, and back again.

"...So... This is where Blad lives?"

" ** _HE... AWAITS YOU... EAGERLY..._** "

"Inside the hotel?"

" ** _...PLEASE ENTER... THROUGH CASTLE BRAN'S... FRONT GATES... OVER HINDER..._** "

"You still have that warhead in you?"

" ** _COUNT BLAD... HAS REQUESTED... THAT ALL 'PERSUASION PROTOCOLS' BE DEACTIVATED, IN THE PRESENCE... OF BRAN CASTLE..._** "

"Huh." Sanford raised his right gauntlet and shot the Protectron in the head with the last round chambered in his bolt action, from the hip.

 ** _CLAK_**

 ** _-KSKSK! CLMClclcmlcmclcm..._** -Sparks flew from the torn-ajar dome of the robot's cranium, the body slumped, arms went limp, and the Protectron rattled and clambered across the pavement with lights sparking illumination in its torn-open wound.

Sanford slowly felt a smile creep on his face as he lowered his gun.

It was so... Peaceful. Quiet. Serene.

He knelt down over the robot's body, put down his gun, and worked both gauntlets over the custom-made plating across its barreled chest. He stuck his fingers in the ridge of the divider between the two hatches, and he tugged.

 ** _CRK-!_** -Metal complained loudly, something snapped, and fell into the depths of the robot's interior. He broke the two hatches aside, and slacked them apart- the opening for the warhead was big enough for his fist, armor and all, to get through.

He bit his tongue, stuck his arm up to the elbow into the dark, sparking recesses of the destroyed Protectron's chest- he clenched the roundness of the warhead, and carefully worked it out of the limp two-prong claw's jaw.

Sanford stood up, and cradled the destructive piece of hardware in his hands, forgetting about his rifle on the ground briefly- examining the little piece of pre-War annihilation in his fingers.

"...Wow... An Ordnance 88..." -Sanford sounded like he was vocally describing a model in one of the dirty magazines he had kept under his bed without his parents' knowledge when he was ten. "...These are usually on rockets... I wonder how I can- oh... oh for- Oh FUCK you!"

Sanford turned the round over, and, very clearly, right on the underside, was a hole.

A blatant, drill-made hole, that went right smack into the center of the round.

He shook it, and as suspected, nothing fell out, of this hole, or rattled, or shifted, or even addled weight, inside this round.

It was a shell.

Nothing inside.

A dud. A joke. A gesture.

Sanford ground his teeth- glared at the ruined Protectron at his feet, and nailed the robot's chest with the shell casing with an effective hurl.

 ** _CLANG- clangclang..._** -It bounced off and rolled across the pavement.

"...Asshole..." Sanford grumbled, picking up his gun, shoving a stripper clip into the top.

"OI'!" -Came a crying voice from the front of the museum. "-WOT' DIDJU DO TA' RUX?!"

Sanford went boggle-eyed mid-reload, and watched, head still bowed for the frame of his gun- as this fat, older man, dressed in what looked like a... red... bathrobe... huh... -ran down the steps of the Pieumont, rounded the side of the fountain, and bent over the remains of the Protectron.

He even noticed this new addition to the day had two fingers on each hand pinching up the folds of his bathrobe, hiking them above his ankles so that the attire wouldn't drag on the ground.

Sanford's brow twitched, and he shut the bolt of his gun- loudly -to get the fool's attention.

"AHEM." He cleared his throat.

The guy had to be in sixties- HAD to be- he was wrinkled, portly, had dark eyes and tan skin mottled with black marks, warts, and acne all across his baggy skin- he had gray sideburns, a bald cranium- his thin little eyes got real big when he saw the metal titan with the gun in his hands.

"How are ya'?" Sanford gave him a shit-eating grin, even though he couldn't see it beneath the helmet.

"...N-Now listen, suh, I didn't mean NOTHIN', wit' the rownd! Y-Yu saw! D-Dud! H-Hawmless! Right?" The old man smiled sheepisly- with an accent that was really odd, a cross between Scottish, Southern American, and... something else... Sanford couldn't place it. He sounded like a freak.

"Your name's Blad?" Sanford nodded.

"Aye, aye that's meh." Blad stuttered, holding his flabby hands up, his bathrobe fluttering.

"I'm not gonna' up and shoot you," Sanford grumbled. "I want to know what the deal is now- I came over here thinking you had guns, or that this was a trap, and now all I have in front of me is some old fart who looks like he's never even cursed at someone before."

"-Q-Quite the summaeshion, suh!"

"Shut up. Why did you have your robot bring me here?"

"-A-Ahl I wanted was some bludy cumpaneh!"

"From a random stranger?"

"Aye!"

"With a gun?"

"Aye!"

"In a suit of Power Armor?"

"Aye, suh!"

"...Ugh, I can't even process this..." Sanford lulled his head back. "...Who even ARE you?"

"...C-Count Blad, suh," The old man smiled a bit, bowed his head, curled his arms over himself to prevent the robe from touching the ground. "-Voivode' of the State of Wallachia."

"...We're not in Romania, you freak." Sanford growled. "What's wrong with you?"

"-The whole wowld's gawn madd, I heer," Blad stood straight up. "Thinkin' we ain't in Romana!"

"We aren't. We're in Boston."

"Yes! Romana!"

"..."

"-S-Soh' yowyr not hea' to shoot meh?"

"...No...? Maybe...? I don't know, why did you bring me here?"

"L-Like I said, stranjeh, I wanted cumpaneh."

"Get away from me." Sanford rolled his eyes and spiraled around to start retracting his steps.

He really was stupid, he even had said it in Diamond.

Thinking this... this MESS, would lead him to something that could help him. What a croc.

"-B-But wait!" Blad raised his arms- gasped, and snatched up his robe again when he realized it fluttered- he hurried to catch up with Sanford as he departed. "-Werd is', you the man serchin' for da' metuul peepol'!"

"...What did you say?" Sanford stopped short and turned around.

"Yeah-yeah! The METUUL PEEPOL'!" Blad flexed his fingers in the air, smiling with a full set of white teeth- a contrast to the rest of his unkempt, unhygienic demeanor. "-Onleh' them and ther' enemeez come round dese' pawts!"

"...You know about the Institute?"

"Aye, suh!"

"What do you know?"

"Lawts, suh!"

"Show me."

"Oi'! Splendid! Guests!" Blad clapped his hands together like a little girl.

Sanford slowly reclined his head, and blinked in shock.

There were so many things wrong with this guy, it was a story in and of itself. What had he gotten himself into NOW?

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	55. Chapter 54

**CHAPTER 54**

 **Down Below.**

* * *

The inside of the Pieumont Hotel was a complete and utter wreck, just like every other building in the wasteland- halls and rooms piled knee-deep with strewn plaster, boards of wood, garbage, bits of concrete, a common mess.

This started right from the getgo after you entered through the front doors of the establishment- Sanford hadn't been able to fit through the revolving entry, so Blad unlocked the pull-open door nearby of the Hotel's stoop.

"-Welcalm ta' Cassal Brawn, suh!" Blad spoke enthusiastically - his robes flowing everywhere as he held his flabby arms up for the dilipidated, ruined foyer of the Hotel's main wing.

"I thought it was 'Bran'." Sanford sighed- ducking through the arch, holding his rifle two-handed over his cuirass chest.

"T'is wat I sed." Blad frowned. "Cassel Brawn."

 _His accent is cringeworthy..._

Sanford angled his helmet at the expansive lobby.

"You live here?"

"As Voivode of Wallachia I'm destenned tu, suh." Blad nodded.

"Why do you keep calling me 'Sir'?"

"-Why, yur meh roiyale gest!"

"...Royal...?"

"Aye, suh."

"...F-Fine, whatever, you said you know something about the Institute?"

"The Metuul-Peepol, aye! Dis waeh, suh."

"Mmhm."

Blad lead him past a few piles of blocky rubble that were strewn with plaster, and strips of wood that had tumbled from the ceiling of the lobby.

There were 'Walkways'- in a sense -dug out among the floor-covering layers of debris and toppled furniture- sofas and loveseats that, when glanced at, brought words to mind like- 'Fancy' or 'High Class' -bronze painted wood with red cushions and arms, sort of stuff.

All these once nice pieces were buried, snapped in twos or threes, had legs missing and holes driven straight through them. There was a staircase in the rear center of the large room that divided for two smaller flights going up to the second floor, left and right.

The oak railings of the red-carpeted stairs were snapped and fractured everywhere- there were paintings that were hung on the gray plaster walls all over the chamber, and they either had fallen, and become buried like all the furniture, or they had aged and been ruined into blank sheets of dust in grimy frames.

Sanford was peering all over the room, at the staircase, at the cracked and stripped ceiling above- he looked for anything even coming off as a hint of strangeness- something like a physical trap, or someone or something hiding- even though his sensors were clean besides Blad.

"-Ya' knoe', suh," Blad stuttered ahead of him as they went through a doorframe- lacking said wooden doors- which were sprawled on the floor on either side of the frame on the other side. "-I taint' hawd guests ina' long time!"

"...I can't imagine why..." Sanford raised a brow at the old man pinching the sides of his matted, dusty robe and hiking it over his ankles. What a loon. "...You live here?"

"Aye, suh." Blad smiled cheaply. They emerged into a seating area, square in shape- floor was red carpet, there was a hall leading to the left, lined with broken oak doors, presumably entering into some of the bottom floor rooms of the hotel.

There was a wrecked information desk on the other side of the room, facing towards the length of the hall across the room from it- it was curved, like a 'C' shape, open on either back side, and had a few rusty computer monitors seated atop its grayed, ruined surface.

"-The cawsuul' shuurly' has seen bettah' daies' it has..." Blad ranted in the background as Sanford stepped over to the desk, his boots crunching against the debris-laced carpet.

"Yep, castle." Sanford muttered- leaning to look over the desk's top- he saw an unrolled sleeping bag back there on the floor, there was a red drink cooler with little black, plastic wheels against the wall next to it, its lid was closed, and there were some stuffed animals strewn around the bedroll.

A brown furred teddy bear, an orange and black, beady-eyed tiger plush, and a purple dragon with orange wings and horns- children's momentos, and Sanford had a mighty good guess WHO they belonged to.

"The royail' sleepin' chaembah', suh!" Blad clapped his hands behind Sanford- causing the Power Armored man to jump from his staring. "Fraid' I doent evun' let theh' royail' guests back dere I don't!"

"...Again, I can't imagine why..." Sanford blinked. He realized it smelled like feces in this corner of the room. And piss. Some other elements he didn't want to identify. "-You have a whole hotel filled with beds, and you're sleeping on the floor?"

"-W-Wehl," Blad suddenly frowned. "A-All da' otha' beds gawt recked' they did."

"Huh. What about the second floor?"

"-Cawsel Brawn's entieh' secunnd' flor' colawpsed! Reelay!"

"DID it now?"

"Aye, suh!"

"Right. So when are you going to tell me what I want to know?"

"Suh?"

"What do you know about the Institute?"

"...W-Wehl, suh," Blad smacked his chops, taking a step back, hiking his robe. "...W-Wud' ya' like a bawtel of pop? I-I have the royail' reeserv' ere'!"

Blad ran around the edge of the reception desk and started trying to pry open the lid of the cooler by his apparent area of squalor.

Sanford looked up at the ceiling, rolled his jaw- the armor creaked as he turned around, lowered his gun by his hip, and planted his fist into the desk's top.

 ** _PMM_** -It rumbled the whole room, and rattled the computer monitors on top.

Blad stumbled away from the cooler, and quivered in a stance over his bedroll- blinking a few times.

"-LISTEN," Sanford growled. "I am NOT, here for pleasantries with you, now shut the hell up, collect yourself, and TELL ME, what you know about the Institute? Tell me right now."

"...S-Suh... W-Wot' e-exzactly' du ya wont' ta' noe?"

"God DAMN IT, man!" Sanford shoved away from the desk. "-DO YOU. KNOW. HOW. TO GET IN?!"

"...W-Wehl the metuul peepol' liv' in da' seeyiehtee' ruans..."

"...T-The what?" Sanford snapped. "Do you mean the 'CIT' ruins?"

"Aye, suh... seeyiehtee..."

"...Ugh... GREAT, now, WHERE, in the CIT ruins?"

"In da' dome bulden'."

"Where, in the dome building?"

"Bawtum floor..."

"Is it a door?"

"...N-Nawt reallay..."

"Then what is it?!" Sanford roared- making Blad jump. "-You fucking freak! Stop pissin' all over yourself, and HELP ME!"

"-I DON'T KNOE' WOT IT IS!" Blad hollered- shrilly- raising his arms over his face, like a child. "-D-DON'T HURT MEH, SUH! SUH! DON'T HURT MEH!"

"...I... UGH," Sanford punched the air and stared down the hallway of rooms on the other side of the chamber- his eyes big, teeth grinding. "...If the Institute doesn't have a door, what are they using to get into the facility? Is it underground?"

"...D-Dere's a big, flawsh o' lite,"

"Uh-huh."

"...A-And da' peepol standin' dere'..."

"Yep."

"...Just... Poof, vawnish."

"So they're using teleporters... Just like the synths with that pod."

"...Aye, suh."

"Anything else?"

"...M-My pewrsonull' techmawster' got capped tryin' ta get in dere'..."

"Your who?"

"Royail' techmawster."

Sanford wanted to yell at him everytime he said 'Royal' with his God-awful accent... Was that accent even a THING when the bombs went off? British people didn't talk like this, this was just... Madness. Blad was out of his mind.

But this at least explained where he got the robot from before, from.

"That where your robot came from?"

"Aye, suh."

"Who was he?"

"Cawlled himselv', Gengah."

"Gen... Gah...?"

"Aye, suh."

"...Holy Christ- RIGHT, so, GENGAH, died trying to do... What?"

"Tryin' to uze' the lite' thingies' tu get in da metuul peepol plase..."

"How'd he figure doing that?"

"...He uze' an antenny' thingie'..." Blad was now holding one of his stuffed animals- the tiger -in his arms, and he looked at Sanford forlornly. "...It's stil' dere, suh."

"The antenna?"

"Aye, suh, and awl' a Gengah's bots are dere' too... Ded, like 'im."

"How'd he die?"

"Metuul peepol shawt 'im, they did..."

"Does this antenna work?"

"Aye, suh."

"How do you know?"

"Cuz' everythin' Gengah bult worked purfectaley..."

"...Blad, how long have you lived here?" Sanford looked around a bit more, sighing. "Where did Gengah, come from?"

"Cawssel Brawn has' been mine fer' aigizz... A-And mawstuh Gengah came ttu' me lookin' for a plase ta' sleep... He awffered to beh' me' tech masteh'."

"How long did that last?"

"...I-I'm so alone..." Blad was in a fetal position on his bedroll, he had his stuffed animals with him, all bundled in his arms- Sanford got a stronger whiff of urine, and cringed.

His armor creaked, feet working extra hard to carry him away from the pathetic scene of the broken man. He poked around the first floor of the hotel for a bit- he opened some of the doors of the rooms lining the hallway.

Each opened with a creak of wood, the knob rattling, and dust cascading off the oak from all the crevices and cracks- Sanford could see into some of the rooms already through holes in the doors.

Every room was pretty much the same- a dusty, ruined mattress for two, or sometimes two singular beds- little oak nightstands, green or blue carpeted floors, broken, marble-looking lamps with yellow, rotting shades.

 ** _ccccRRRREEAAAKKK..._** -The last door at the end of the hall slithered open, revealing the darkness of the hotel room to him, illuminated by a stark pillar of dull blue emerging from the dirtied, matted window on the far side ahead of him, he saw dust particles swirling in the light from outside.

Standing in the doorway for a minute- Sanford glanced around the room before he actually stepped in it, he looked out the frame, and he heard the faint sounding, distanced sobs of Blad still coming from down the hall.

The reception desk was almost a dot to him for how far he had come down here- Sanford looked back inside the room, sighed, and stepped in.

The carpet hissed quietly under his boots- he looked at the double-size mattress over a shattered frame of wood, whose legs had snapped away, and the whole frame lie compressed to the floor. There was a nightstand, its two drawers tugged wide open, and the lamp on its top missing a shade, and bulb.

Sanford trotted over and looked in the drawers- he saw a rather large book in the top one, with a tan, ruined cover- he squinted, reached inside, and wrapped his armored fingers around the spine.

Reclining with his new find- an arm of translucent dust followed the tome's slow sail through the air- he shook it, dispelled more gunk into the atmosphere- and he took both covers, hard, and flipped them aside for the ragged pages between them.

Most of the paper had been torn out, symbolized by ragged stubble making half the pile inside at the spine's interior- what pages were still left were matted, browned, and almost incomprehensible.

Sanford balanced the book in one hand, and used the other's finger to slide through a few of the pages.

There were chapter titles in white letters on orange colored tabs- it was a colorful book, and, as Sanford looked more and more through it... He started to get a feeling of... deja'vu. He knew this book.

He looked at the bottom left corner on the left page.

It read- ' _Chapter 15, History of Eastern Europe- Romania- Pg33_ '

This was similar to the textbooks he'd read in history class as a school student, when he was a kid.

-He looked at any of the blocks of texts still audible.

Blad had torn out everything that didn't discuss Eastern Europe- particularly Romania, Bulgaria and Hungary.

Sanford flipped through a few more pages- and he started to get the message more and more as he found all kinds of random sections in the book spared from Blad's tearing fingers because they mentioned Romanian or Hungarian culture, or geography, or political leaders.

...How long had this man been scouring a children's textbook for these things? How long had he been in this hotel? Withering away?

The faint sobs from down the hall were quiet.

Sanford underhand tossed the book onto the mattress, and he stepped out of the room, and went out into the hall. He then stood in the center of the hallway for a minute- torn between going back to the seating area, and moving for the other end of the hall.

Listening to the mutterings of Blad from the extreme distance eventually rebuffed Sanford to decide on the right of the hall- down the way he hadn't been yet.

When he rounded the corner of the wall, he saw that the hall made an abrupt turn right for another square seating area- the walls lined with wrecked, bronze-tinted, red cushioned chairs- ruined paintings still hanging from the walls.

There was a golden chandelier that had snapped off its chain from a hang in the center of the seating area's ceiling- it had fallen and shattered in a great gold mound of bent metal, broken crystal, and shattered light bulbs- the piece was big enough that Sanford had to traverse the room AROUND it.

He ringed around the pancaked fixture- his boots kicking a few bits and pieces to hollowly ring away on the carpet- he aimed for a set of double oak doors on the other end of the seating area- eyes locked to them, a feeling of curiosity overtaking him.

 ** _chk-chk-ccccRRREEEEaaaakkkk..._** -He gripped both knobs, turned and pushed them outwards.

The two wooden entries rattled and groaned the whole way, sluggishly, and then bounced roughly off the walls on either side of the frame, interior the dark recesses of the room beyond.

Shadows were heavy here, there were twin pyramids of damp light that cascaded into the center of the carpeted room's floor- particles swirling in the faint blue illumination, and contrasting greatly for the shade throughout the rest of the chamber.

Sanford saw two windows to the left- they had yellowed, cracked, plastic blinds pulled down over them, so the light was thin and layered with shadowy lines in its projection- there were chairs lining the wall underneath the sills, and in the center of the room were... things... that... shouldn't have been here?

What WAS all this stuff?

Sanford saw metal stuff- it looked like aluminum desks, tables and shelves against the walls across the room's length, and around another doorframe that lead deeper into the hotel to the far right. There were computer monitors on some of the desks, disassembled parts for computers, robotics, machines...

-The levels of complexity were varying too for these unfinished projects- Sanford picked out motherboards that had parts torn and incisioned from them, there was a coffee machine that had been entirely taken apart, a toy car, and the frame of a robotic model's claw.

There were wrenches, hammers, mallets, screwdrivers- all kinds of tools strewn on the floor, across tables and desks, gathered in ajar toolboxes stacked or in individuals on the ground or on the counters... Scrap metals, electronics- if this was Blad who had done this... then he thought similarly to Sanford, like how he did things in his garage.

Though the garage back home was WAY way more organized than THIS.

Sanford stepped over to the cones of light from the windows- his suit appearing a black mass in the shade- he looked across the makeshift laboratory- and he jumped when he saw a rather tall shadow suddenly become highlighted in his suit's night vision filters.

He reached for his Laser rifle, stuck his bolt action over his back, behind the Nukalizer- and then he stopped getting ready for a fight when he saw specifically, what the case with this figure was.

Propped up against the corner of the room, on the side Sanford faced- was an inactive Protectron model, rusty, darkened, with its chest plating parted in varying ways- some of the rib plates had been unscrewed, other plates had been broken off, for example.

The robot had been smeared with yellow, and some purple paint- Sanford saw tiny buckets of opened paint on the floor by the robot's feet- the paint inside having long solidified. He stepped over to the robot, and looked around its mangled hull, the empty cans on the ground, some tools strewn in a pile nearby.

He peered inside the opened cuirass of the Protectron- ran a scan from his helmet, and found that whoever had run this lab, had removed the robot's main power fluctuator- basically the coupling needed to allow the power source, to distribute power to the actual systems themselves.

Blad couldn't have done this, he was too... Insane, and not in a good way, like Hancock's digitally rendered madness.

This had to be the work of this- 'Gengah' -character.

Who the hell had a name like THAT?

Gen-gah.

What the hell was a 'Gengah'? Was it like that stupid tower building game with the wooden blocks Sanford had played when he was a kid, Jenga? People out here were freaks.

He nosed around more- yanked open some drawers on the aluminum desks- they all smelled like grease, and, having thoroughly become agitated with smelling other people's shit- Sanford switched off the external rebreathers of the suit with a blink activation inside his HUD.

He tugged around the contents of the lab with fresh filtered oxygen whirring around inside the X-01 like some kind of miniature all-around air conditioning unit- it was a cool feeling, literally and figuratively.

"...What's this..." Sanford muttered, coming out with a medium-sized spiral-spined notebook from one of the desk's tops- all the washers and the cerebral connector port for a Robo-Brain model sifted off the cover as he lifted it up.

He flipped open to the first page, and, inside, the paper was so matted with notes and scribblings that he couldn't make sense of it- it was a wad of inky black paper, for how much scribbling was on it.

Sanford cringed and started flipping through.

Despite this would-be engineer having a dumbass name, he did certainly know his robotics- there were diagrams depicting almost every model running around the East Coast in this notebook- there were bullet detailed weak points, manufacturer variations of internal components- heavy stuff.

Sanford couldn't find any information he didn't already know about the models- there were diagrams of Protectrons of varying type- industrial models, service models, secrity models kind of thing -there were diagrams of Assaultrons, Mr. Gutsy's (Sanford smiled worryingly at the thought of Hancock)- and even Sentry Bots.

Eventually he reached a page that differentiated from the robotic side of things- it depicted a box, or, what LOOKED like a box, Sanford couldn't identify what it had been before this Gengah guy had modified it- but it had an antenna sticking out of that.

According to the specification box in the side of the page- that antenna was six feet tall, as tall as a man- and it was constructed from pure silver. Coils wrapped around the antenna's base and draped over the box, were connected to what looked like electrodes on varying surfaces around the device.

"...What the hell is a Temporal Distortion Resonator?" Sanford asked himself outloud.

...Wait a minute.

If the Institute accessed their base through some kind of teleportation mechanism, and the synthetics had to go into the bottom floor of that big domed building at the north end of the university, and they were using teleportation...

...This Gengah fellow was trying to figure out a way to 'Hack' into the teleportation networks, or devices, whatever, that the Institute was using to get inside their facility.

...With the way fate was working over the last few days, Sanford bet that the synths had shot the poor bastard before he could get it to work, because it WOULD have worked.

Sanford bent down and stuffed the notebook in his rucksack- shoving it between the books he had acquired for Nyx.

He stared at those for a moment afterwards.

He would be... In a really, really bad position for himself if something happened to that Deathclaw. Sanford saw himself reacting brashly to something like that, in a way that was detrimental for no one else but him.

He would be miserable.

Lost, even.

Sanford huffed and stomped out of the lab, back into the seating area, into the hall, down the hall.

"Blad?" He called out to the desk as he stood at the mouth of the hallway. "Blad, come out."

...Nothing. He heard nothing from behind the desk.

Sanford moved closer, and leaned over the top of the counter- to find that the bedroll was empty, the stuffed animals were gone, and the cooler had been knocked over on its back.

"...Blad?" Sanford called out to the lobby.

...Nothing.

It seemed 'Castle Bran' was empty.

Who knew, with what Sanford had seen with Han', all the weird stuff, the encounter in the Quarry with him, Hancock and Nyx... It might've always been empty from the start.

Sanford was at least relieved to see that the remains of the Protectron robot were still sprawled out in front of the fountain like he had left them. But, descending the stairs, standing in the parking lot gave him a feeling of loneliness before he turned for the wrought iron gate.

He gazed at the Pieumont Hotel for a little bit- a place he had only been in for a few moments, at best, with a man who had utterly lost his mind, that had divulged some kind of hint for Sanford to get closer to his goal.

He was right, going with the robot, surely did prove beneficial for his cause- at least, that was if the old guy had even been telling facts, and the device he had seen in the notebook WORKED, which Sanford believed both did. However, it had also provided him another outstanding example, of the world he was always trying to save.

He saw Blad appear briefly in the doorframe of the swivel doors- peering out from inside the shaded recesses of the building, like a child, a rat- before he zipped back inside when Sanford met his eyes.

Sanford had gone in annoyed, and hateful towards the wretch.

Now he left the hotel grounds feeling terrible for him.

A lost soul.

What had this world turned into?

See, these were the things he saw in his life, that made him not know if it was worth saving.

He just didn't know anymore.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Flickering of flame, moaning of wounded people, HIS people, a cloudless blue sky above and a lovely day tainted with the smell of war.

The front of the Museum of Science was a hellhole.

When Corporal Brody and a detachment from both the 6th and 10th showed up to reinforce the degenerating situtation in the area- all they had found were bodies, and all of them were militia.

The dead gardens on the western flank of the museum's front grounds were still kicking embers, there were trees that had been burning for so long, that even as they lay in blackened sprawls on the ground, there were veins of amber glowing on them.

Men were going about- mostly medics -looking for wounded, and, while they had found a mere five guys, and had lain them on stretchers in the middle of the street ahead of the grounds while med-teams tended them- they had mostly been assigned for body cleanup, and so far the number of dead was at twenty six.

"...Found a few more," One of the lieutenents grumbled- and a pair of soldiers hobbled by behind him, with a body in their grips. Brody glanced over his man's shoulder and saw two more lines of people just like that, dragging corpses by their shoulders, hauling them by their arms and feet in pairs. "-Fucking Brotherhood."

"It wasn't the Brotherhood." Brody said, looking at the shadow of the museum's sheer size, highlighted in the early day sun. "Roe, do me a favor."

"Jim?" Roe came up behind him, her Musket in her grasp even though it wasn't needed.

"Call up Freedom and tell them we need more of those 90's out here."

"They torched the one across the bridge."

"We need more of them."

"Aye."

"Have Kallihand's pathfinders located Tobs?"

"No."

"Shame."

"He's not our answer, Jim..." Roe raised a brow under her trifold.

"I don't know about that..." Brody muttered- watching a fire squad emerge from the inside of the museum's front doors- the sergeant raised his arms in exasperation, and called out-

"-Synths are gone!"

"God-" - ** _clk-_** Brody stomped his boot. "-DAMN it!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Sanford made haste going back down Vassar Road, the spine of this side of the river that ran right to the CIT campus.

His mind was pretty choked up with thoughts around this notebook he had acquired, the device depicted on it, Blad and Gengah for what little he understood about them- he was still worrying, exponentially, just, WORRYING.

His scanners were going a little nuts- showing some sigs' of local wildlife- pathetic stuff, scavenger birds mostly, some molerats.

He didn't have time for any of this.

He had already distracted himself too much in the Pieumont.

He jumped when he heard a loud, brash noise- an electronic bleeping- and he looked inside his helm's HUD to see his sensors had picked up something else.

Three sigs', all human.

Sanford didn't see an immediate threat with it- a mere three people usually didn't mean Raiders, or highwaymen- but who knew, maybe these people were crazy, like Blad, but they had guns, and Sanford didn't like that combination.

He kept his Laser rifle in his grip anyway as he walked between all the cars.

... ** _clk..._**

-A single gunshot, laughter, two people, one of the life sigs' in Sanford's helm flared and went dark.

He snorted.

That person better had been as evil as they came for this to happen- or Sanford was gonna' tear these thugs' innards out.

He rounded a few more cars, went past the overturned grill of an eighteen wheeler truck- and down across the street, behind a few dumpsters pushed to the sidewalk, he saw the top of a man's head- overgrown with moppy, black hair- there was another guy sitting on the top of one of the dumpsters, looking down at something, laughing.

They both had rifles slung over their backs, and they had big, dirty, ragged beards- they wore rags with belts tying vests of body armor over their torsos.

Sanford stepped around a car, neared them, and called out-

"-HEY!"

-The two men dropped their little laughter fits- jerked to look over their shoulders at the Power Armored guy stomping towards them- they flailed like fish, and both slid and ducked behind the dumpster.

Sanford leveled his rifle from his hip-

 ** _CLK_**

-One of them stuck his rifle over the top of the dumpster and shot blindly.

Sanford knelt behind the wheel of a car.

 ** _CLK_**

 ** _CLK_**

-Two more shots, one shattered the glass of a nearby automobile.

Sanford peered over the hood- aimed down the sight of his gun, and waited for another set of arms to pop up.

 ** _CLK_**

- ** _PMPMPMPM -_** A quick burst- he heard one of the men gasp, something tumbled, another gunshot- **_CLK_** -and then clacking of boots as one of the thugs made a break for it.

Sanford stood straight up, and strafed the guy's legs right before he rounded the side of another car.

 ** _PMPMPMPM-_** "-AGH! AAHHH!" -The body tumbled, the screaming stopped, Sanford switched the battery coils on his rifle for recharge.

He jogged over to the dumpsters- kept his eyes locked on the one guy sprawled on the sidewalk from where he had shot him in the legs- he wasn't moving, and steam was coarsing from his calves.

Sanford sneered- he kicked away the rifle his second victim dropped, and aimed around the back of the dumpsters.

There were two bodies.

One was the other guy- he'd gotten clipped in the top of his messy head, and his cranium had a steaming fissure running down it end to end- bloodied, blackened- his brown eyes were wide open, mouth clamped shut in his filthy beard.

Sanford snorted, and he looked at the other corpse.

He almost dropped his gun.

Young girl, on her back, black and short hair, blue eyes wide open, looking at the sky above- a gunshot wound right in her forehead- her legs were opened, she was bare from the hip down- there was blood everywhere, on her, all over her, over the ground, in THAT kind of place and way.

They'd used a knife.

Sanford looked at the desecration, stonefaced, with empty eyes.

...

...

...He didn't... MOVE, because... How could he?

...How do you react to something like this?

...What was... What was the point?

...Why would you do this to somebody?

...

 ** _shsk-shk_**

...He heard shuffling, behind him, on the concrete.

Sanford's brow twitched- he clenched his teeth so hard it hurt.

The Power Armor creaked and rattled- he spun around and started stomping towards the other guy's body, on the sidewalk- with his immobile legs, and his clawing arms.

"-Ah-AHH! -AH!" The guy cried out like a coward- scrabbling on his belly, futily, not even moving from where he lay- seeing as his legs were paralyzed.

Sanford stood over him- breath hissing out from his teeth, his gun clacking for how much his hands were shaking in his gauntlets.

...This... God damned ANIMAL.

Sanford contemplated all kinds of horrible shit he could do to him.

What would HURT? What would be long? Painful?

Maybe he could rip his dick off, or, maybe he could step on his gut until something ruptured- maybe he could-

...-maybe, he could... stop thinking like the very man he was to kill.

...What was wrong with him?

Deciphering ways to make even the lowest of the low, suffer?

Just shoot him and be done with it.

That was all he needed to do.

Just shoot him.

Sanford shut his eyes- held in his breath, caught it a few times when it slipped out- he raised his gun, and clicked the trigger.

 ** _PMPM_**

-Two bolts clipped into the guy's back, sent steam and the smell of burnt flesh out into the air- the flailing stopped, the motions stopped, Sanford heard the guy cough, and then... silence.

He opened his eyes.

The thug had died with his face in the concrete.

As he should have. With two blackened holes in his back.

Sanford quivered out a slow exhale. He turned around, and looked back at the girl behind the dumpsters. She couldn't have been much older than him, maybe a little younger.

...What was wrong with this God damned place?

Was it not enough that Earth had been nuked? Was it not enough that everything was gone?

Humans had always been doing shit like this... it didn't even seem like the apocalypse could stop people from being animals.

Sanford faltered again in his travel for the CIT.

He leant back against the brick wall of a nearby building, took off his helmet, and let it drop on the dirt by his foot- he pressed his hair back into the arched plating of the X-01 behind his head, and he shut his eyes at the blue sky above.

He wanted to cry, he even tried to MAKE himself cry. But nothing happened.

It was a broiling feeling of corruption that needed release- and it never released. Pent in horror, shame, disgust, ANGER. Boiling anger.

Sanford exhaled again, it sounded like a whine.

...He had a brief moment where he thought of wanting to 'Go Home'.

Where WAS home? The Gas Station... Maybe?

He didn't know.

 _You still think this dump, this horrible, horrible dump is worth saving?_

He didn't know.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	56. Chapter 55

**CHAPTER 55**

 **The Lonely Trek of One**.

* * *

Out of all the things, the horror stories, the tales of beautiful places in the world being blotched with the shadows of war- Sanford's father had withheld so much information from his son, that little Sanford didn't fully know of his father's exploits in the military.

Sanford senior was a veteran of some of the worst, most drawn out campaigns in the Sino-American War as a decorated infantryman. He had served in the defense of Anchorage, the defense of occupied Japan, the defense of the Philipines, and the invasion of Hong Kong, and many more.

Out of all of those theatres, and all of those wars within the war itself- Sanford's father had witnessed all kinds of atrocities- he witnessed amazing things too, and even beautiful things, just like his son would in the world after the bombs.

However his father was haunted by the terrible crimes going on around him in Asia and the Pacific- Sanford was too young to see that when his pa' was still around, but, now that he was older, now that he understood the concept of pure evil, the fickleness that human life held in such bedlam... He saw what his father was really going through.

Sanford asked him all the time to tell him stories from his time in the army, and most of the time his father just would flatly refuse-

'No, I don't think that's a good idea, little man.' -He'd say.

'I've told you, Sanford, it was a lot of sitting around in trucks, doing paperwork, watching sunsets over the Dutch East Indies and workin' with the Aussies' until they told us to leave when the Commonwealth popped up in Europe.'

...All a bunch of lies.

Sanford didn't hold any grudges for it, at all.

His father didn't want to relive that shit at home, with his family, Sanford was too small to understand that, to grasp it.

Every now and again, his father would relent sometimes with little stories- he told Sanford about a few of the weapons that were active in the campaigns- like the M44 Super Sherman mainline tank that was rolling around Japan, and the Philipines to a degree.

"Wish we had THOSE mutha's in Alaska..." His father noted once. "Chinese were running about with these modified ore mining platforms- things were garbage, and because we couldn't get tanks through all the ice and mud, we had to use AT rifles on them all the time."

"What'd the Chinese use in the mainland?" Sanford junior kept going.

"Oh they had tanks there, uhm... T-700's? I think? The Shermans would throttle 'em in droves. Never walked down a road in Hong Kong that didn't have at least eight or ten wrecked T-700's on it."

It was unbelievable how interested Sanford had been in the army, the military, the wars that were beginning to destroy his very world without his knowledge. All he wanted to do was understand it, see it, hear about it...

...Now, he kind of lived it.

Fast forwards through his hibernation in the Vault-Tec pod, that apparently had a bigger chance of malfunctioning and killing him than actually keeping him frozen- now fast forwards the decade he'd spent living out here.

Sanford would smile at his own naivety when he thought about his childhood- some of the questions he asked, just, they way they were so innocent, so... CIVILIAN... As a combatant, as a soldier of the Wasteland, Sanford could now see that.

His father had been a brilliant man, a brave man... But Sanford didn't really know definitively whether his pa' was right to withhold everything going on from him back then, not that it mattered anymore, but... Sometimes it was a question of sheer pondering, nothing more.

-Figure that, ANOTHER damned question he didn't have an answer too.

This was what was so frustrating about it- how many times did he have to repeat these hardships in his head to finally reason- 'It's unknown! STOP BRINGING IT UP, SELF!' -and finally, FINALLY, have a day where he didn't feel burdened by the whipping storms in his addled brain?

Sanford groaned inside his armor because of this.

He was so tired.

Literally, seeing as he hadn't slept in a whole day and half.

And figuratively.

He was tired of living like this. Granted he was lucky, very lucky, to have the things he had in this kind of environment- there wasn't another community in Boston that had similar luxuries to his own besides Diamond- not even Goodneighbor, or Fort Freedom, or Bulwark.

Sanford had to admit... He had it somewhat -'Made'-out here. He could bathe, he was well fed, he could defend himself, and he had a safe place to sleep at night at the station. Most people didn't get that.

Here was the tradeoff though. Most people also didn't get exposed to the huge degree of things he did, in turn.

Particularly, things like that girl before.

Sanford had an urge to bury the body, or to try and carry it somewhere, like Diamond, where she could be interred in the makeshift masoleum they had in the basement sections... But he didn't have time, he had wasted enough precious moments with Blad, in the Hotel.

Sanford felt gross leaving the body where he had found it, but he didn't see an alternative yet.

He reasoned that when this was over, and the Institute was vanquished, or beaten- he would go back and give her a proper burial. People who were animals deserved to be left out there like animals... not innocents.

Of course, Sanford didn't know this woman, he didn't know who she was, how she had thought, what she had done throughout her life- because, who knew, she could've been a Raider, or a murdering drug addict, or...

...You just could never tell with people. Who was 'Good' -in quote, who was- 'Bad' -in quote. The world became ugly when you looked at it in blacks and whites.

-Uglier than it already was, at that.

He swept his gaze about Boston's skyscrapers- saw a billboard advertising a movie release specifically for Captain Atomica- one of the varied comic book heroes that had skyrocketed to popularity in the late 2070's before the bombs.

Sanford smiled at the billboard- hung on the rounded corner of a shop structure, facing diaganol the streets below- it had a white background, with black, space-style-font letters drawing across the center of the frame reading- ' _Captain ATOMICA! -In theatres July 10th._ '

He missed all those super heroes.

He missed being a stupid kid- looking up to those overly muscular guys in tights with capes, wagging his tongue at the all the provocatively positioned gals' who were basically wearing armored bikinis... Comic books were friggin' cool.

Sanford sighed and looked at the shadowy dome of the CIT ruins, just ahead to the left, behind a clustered array of buildings to the flank of Massachusetts Avenue's lanes.

Vassar had broken off in a four-way intersection further down the line- Sanford went east down this road, and that would take him directly to the CIT entrance plaza for the Architectural section of the campus.

Even all the way down Massachusetts Avenue, the street was choked with derelict cars and trucks and buses- a sea of abandon, with scavenger birds fluttering out of windows, or from behind tires every now and again as Sanford trekked.

The long west buildings of the campus were four or five stories tall- and they were like a wall of multi-rowed windows, ground level maintenance and office entries- there were red-bricked squares that patterned the sidewalk with black holes in their epicenters- where garden trees used to be planted.

The CIT campus was gigantic, at least, In Sanford's opinion. He and his father had driven through it a few times, but until after the bombs, after the Vault, he had never walked through it.

He and Hancock had sparingly walced around the joint- Hancock once found an old tennis ball in the sports fields just west of here- which was weird, seeing as there wasn't an actual dedicated tennis FIELD on grounds- and they'd tried catching and throwing it back and forth across the field.

Sanford grinned at that memory.

Hancock was an anomaly, a robot that had a personality, unhealthy mental episodes that just let him a pisser to be around... Sanford hoped he was okay. He had to have been, his signal was still emanating- brighter and louder than ever with such proximity to the CIT.

 ** _bzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZ-_** -A tan, spindly mass flew through the air with menacing, flickering, thin wings buzzing behind its wiry back, and went right in the space before Sanford's head.

The Blood Bug poked its proboscis at him- and Sanford stopped short with a cringing glare to the insect.

He reached up, felt plushy resistance in his armored palm- he gripped it by the head, the insect's wings spasmed, its legs clambering about- he squeezed until green ooze leaked out between some of his fingers, and the wings started to stutter, the legs twitching still.

He grunted and swung the corpse out of his way- where it hollowly slapped against a nearby car door, and crumpled in a still-twitching mess.

Just up ahead, there was a section of road relatively cleared of cars and vehicles- the chalk marking the street was long gone, and it extended westwards, to the foot of a massive flight of steps, that lead up to the face of the CIT Architectural School, the front entrance lined with cracked, marble pillars.

One of the pillars had snapped off from its base and connection to the concrete overloft over the stairs- it was strewn down the flight, having fissured into the very structure of the steps, and having shattered into rounded sections, that had also rolled and crumbled into the street ahead.

Sanford didn't immediately charge up the steps, as his scanners were starting to pick up more robotic signatures- and he knew that these were more synths, and they were probably in prepared positions, waiting for him.

He needed to think about this.

Checking his HUD again, he was at least relieved to see that the signatures his suit was picking up were not immediately nearby- they were coming from inside the campus itself, behind the Architectural School he was at the entrance of.

There weren't as many as he was expecting either. That was... Interesting.

Sanford took a second to back off towards the rows of cars he had passed through, he knelt behind a yellow pickup missing its cab roof-and he watched the small group of sigils in his scans.

Getting an idea- he looked down at his Laser rifle, his new main-toy of the age it seemed- and he gripped the foldable scope that was jutting off to the side. He unscrewed the lock, and snapped it into place over the spine of the weapon's frame.

Turning the security bolts until they squeaked to tight stillness- he raised the gun and looked through the tan-hued scope from his right eye-lens in the helmet. Luckily his X-01 had software in the helmet to determine distances to targets FOR him... Or else he would've been forced to use Mil-Dot formulas to try and figure how far possible targets were.

Sanford had never really learned it entirely- it was why he was never adament about being a sharpshooter during any given day- he always had to engage people, or things, relatively mid-range with sniper weapons to avoid having to worry about ranging problems or bullet drop.

At least with Lasers it was more straight forwards- literally, too -the Lasers wouldn't 'Drop' or 'Lower' they were projected, like light, so 'Bullet Drop' wasn't an issue no matter how far the target was. The only problem with THAT though, Lasers, was that eventually the projections- like light -would spread with great distance, so, it was still possible to miss.

But Sanford would be dealing with close quarters here- there would be no missing for either side if one got caught in the open, which meant he needed to be careful- since these synths were wicked good shots.

... _Though, maybe not._ -Sanford mused, remembering all the near misses that he had dealt with recently.

He lowered his gun and looked back at the entrance wing to this side of the campus structure.

As he was getting ready to stand, he... noticed... something... in the air, a noise...

...What the hell was that?

 ** _whmwhmwhmwhmwhmwhmwhm..._**

-Oh shit.

Sanford stumbled back to a crouch behind the pickup.

He KNEW that sound.

 ** _whmwhmwhmwhm-vvWWWWMMMM-_** A metallic, dark-colored disruption to the cleared blue sky shot out from ahead- and hovered over the other side of the buildings Sanford faced, over the campus yards on the other side.

The VB-02 Vertibird steadied straight, angling its belly for the grounds below- the propellers whirring, and groaning out a gust of dispelled jet streams as tri-limbed landing gear whined and unfolded from covering sections in the craft's underside.

Sanford watched the gunship lose altitude, slowly, and descend behind the Architectural building- where the engines gradually started to get quieter and quieter.

He checked his HUD.

Now there were almost ten human life signatures just ahead- there were robotic signatures converging, and then... conjoining...

...Oh no.

The Enclave obviously had had some friendly demeanor with the Institute.

...What if the Institute people were giving them his Deathclaw?

What if they were giving them Nyx?

Hell no.

"-I'm comin', girl." Sanford grumbled.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

" _Director? It's waking up._ "

" _I can see that. Use another dose, just to keep her under._ "

" _Yes, Director._ "

-" _Director? We have guests._ "

" _Representatives I imagine? Have XM-988 escort them in._ "

" _Should we arm a strike team?_ "

" _Keep it low key, Valerie._ "

" _Yes Director. They're saying they're pretty important, so you know._ "

" _What, did Eden show up in a cart? I can't imagine he would._ "

" _No, it's their Superintendent._ "

" _...Oh dear._ "

" _Director, I think this could get really hairy, quite quickly. We should give him the tube and tell him to leave, I've heard stories._ "

" _As have I. Are we sure this is the same person?_ "

" _Positive._ "

" _...I'm... Reluctant to part with her. She's a prime specimen. Even our agreement out west can't get a specimen like this._ "

" _Is it worth the risk, Director?_ "

" _...No. I imagine it's not._ "

" _We have Generation Two teams reporting significant losses on the surface._ "

" _This is the Wastelander I've been told about?_ "

" _The same._ "

" _Very well, ehm- do keep trying with lethal force, if, THAT, doesn't work, we follow my idea._ "

" _-Letting TWO Wastelanders down here? Director, that's madness._ "

" _If it preserves the Institute, we do it, I order it._ "

" _Yes, Director._ "

-" _-Director? It's not drugging the subject._ "

" _Tough girl. Use a higher dose, not TOO high, or we run the risk we discussed._ "

" _Yes, Director._ "

" _Valerie?_ "

-" _Director?_ "

" _I want to prevent a possible armed situation here, is that clear?_ "

" _...Yes._ "

" _Good, good. Markus? Is this Deathclaw still conscious? Give it the next dose, man!_ "

-Nyx heard the array of voices as blubbery, blurred, and hampered mumbles in her swimming vision. She felt moisture around her body- weightlessness, her limbs were dangling in nothingness, and the hollow sound of bubbles swished by her one earhole.

Her eyes fluttered- she saw a brief flicker of sickly green, murky vision- she tried to open her jaw, and met resistence by something plastic.

Then she felt tired.

Then blackness.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

 ** _CRK_**

 ** _crk...nkkkk..._** -The front door was shoulder-checked from his path, and groaned in a loose swing to the right on its rusty hinges.

Sanford Tobs glanced around a massive foyer wing with two staircases, one on each side, linking to a second level that overlooked a great empty space in the center of the great chamber from an enwrapping overloft.

He crouched behind a pile of rubble- his scanners started to complain about proximity alerts from robotic sigs'- he looked over his scope once more, and he waited- watching about the white, blackened, and hole-ridden walls of the once vibrant school of technology and modernization in Boston.

There were doors that lead into classrooms, lecture halls and demonstration wings- display shelves and boxes that once held priceless arts and exceptional projects of famous students and staff, were all shattered with their contents missing, or dashed about on the floors.

There were positions all over the place that synethetics could hide in and take shots at him from. He didn't like it one bit.

He looked down across the lobby chamber- between the two staircases- and down there he could see another row of entrance doors, some shattered, broken open, or gone completely- that streamed sunlight from outside in the campus courts. THAT, was where he was headed.

He needed to reach the Great Dome building.

His sensors flared.

 ** _WHM_** -He ducked and fell on his back, and an Ion round sailed right over his nose.

Five synthetics wielding Ion rifles were on the overloft overlooking the chamber from the second floor.

 ** _wwhm-clk-clk_**

-He heard doors opening, jerking, being smacked ajar by metal heels- he glanced quickly from behind the mound of stone and wood- saw a cluster of at least ten synthetic footsoldiers spreading out across the bottom floor from the front doors leading out to the campus yard.

They had shadows cast on the tiled floor ahead of them from the sunlight streaming in behind them- they looked like shadow people flowing into the Architecture Building's first level- bringing doom with them. A little poetic for Sanford's tastes, but it was a vibe he got.

 ** _WHM-CLK!_** -He ducked as an Ion round punched into a slab of broken concrete inches from his helmet's face.

 ** _ssshmm-CLK_** -He darted his head to glance at his flank.

Having flung out from one of the synthetic squads- there was a dart, similar to the ones he had seen in the tranquilizer gun he'd picked up back near Diamond. The dart was black in color, and clearly written in blocky, white letters on its reflective, egg-like mass, was- _PLM15_ -and Sanford's eyes bugged.

-That was the army code for Plasma munitions back in the day, even HE knew that despite his father never saying so until he had read about it...

It was an explosive.

A Plasma grenade, shot from a gun.

God damned Institute.

Sanford flailed around in the rubble- he got to his feet, and started making for a support beam that was out in the middle of the lobby section he was in.

 ** _BMMMMKKK..._** -A burst of blinding, green-colored light ate into the mound he had wedged himself in- casting blackened shreds of stone and metal everywhere- the air actually wavered from the blast of heat cast about by the Plasma charge.

 ** _PMPMPMPMPMPMPM-_** He strafed the whole first floor ahead of him blindly in a rough sweeping motion as he ran for cover- Laser shots flickered nearby, past him, some bounced off his right arm, hard enough that he felt his entire limb jerk from the impacts.

He just got behind the square-like support beam right as a concentrated stream of beams smacked into the corner he passed behind, it made a punching sound, like- **_PLK PLK PLK_** -and it shattered the stonework there in blasts of dust and pebbles.

Sanford ground his teeth- he aimed around the OTHER corner- and fired at the synthetics ground-side that were still relatively exposed as they scrambled for cover.

 ** _PMPMPMPMPMPM-_** He caught one out in the open, and the shots shredded its ribcage- he saw the flailing, sparking body tumble and slide the rest of the distance the synth had been running, across the floor.

Right before he ducked back- he saw an even LARGER shape ducking through the doors on the other side of the lobby, the campus yard side- it was another synthetic squad leader, with a holo-blade pointed ahead, and electronic garblings echoing from its robotic head.

Sanford shoved the barrel of his weapon around the corner and sprayed around blindly- then he ran for the side of the lobby wing- where there was a hallway, lined with classroom doors- it was better cover than this mess.

He tried to hunch his shoulders as he ran- keeping his helmet behind the raised mass of his pauldrons- it actually paid off, because an Ion shot bounced off the rim of his right padding just before his headgear's temple.

First thing he did was plough through a doorway- he checked the wooden entry with his flank, and the whole door snapped off its hinges, and flattened to the floor inside with a deafening **_THWACK!_** -He hid inside the rim, changed coils for his rifle's battery.

He had entered a lecture hall- the floor just ahead dipped for rows and rows of mangled, and toppled desks- at the base, there was a huge chalkboard with a ragged crater torn in the middle of it, behind a big wooden desk strewn with papers and garbage. One of the saucer-like light fixtures on the ceiling had fallen and shattered in a big mound in the desks in the center row of the half-circle.

-Footsteps from outside.

Sanford aimed out the frame and mowed down three synths that rounded the mouth of the room's hall outside- they jerked and flailed, fell in sparking heaps on the floor.

 ** _CSSHK!_**

-A blast of masonry dust, tumbling, flipping boards of wood, and cartwheeling strips of plaster from the very ceiling of the lecture room.

Sanford looked up, and he saw a humanoid shadow descend from a freshly-torn hole in the panels above- it landed almost silently among the desks in the leftwards row of the room- clattering the pieces of wood and metal strewn about.

The synth put a single foot on a desktop- raised an Ion rifle at him in the blink of an eye- before he shot it with a quick snap and burst.

 ** _PMPMPM-_** The synthetic's head blew away in a blast of circuitry and flashing electric energy- the body fell back and rolled across some of the desks.

 ** _CHSSK!_** -Another hole in the ceiling formed nearby- Sanford shot the synth that descended from it with another quick burst- the body jerked mid-air, and tumbled the rest of the way, flattening and smacking into the center row of desks.

 ** _PLK!_** -A dart shot out from one of the holes up there- and Sanford looked down in horror at another explosive charge, with its needle stuck into the joint of his left gauntlet's elbow.

"-FUCK-!" He screamed- he grabbed up the dart, and tore it free.

-Footsteps from the doorframe of the room.

He spiraled around.

There had to be six synths bum-rushing him from the hallway outside.

He aimed from the hip- one handed- sprayed- **_PMPMPMPM_** -then he threw the dart at them.

 ** _BMMMMSSKK!_** -Any bodies that hadn't toppled with steaming, blackened laser-wounds in them were chopped down and dismembered in the blinding bubble of coalescing, green light. A severed, synthetic arm flew right by Sanford's head.

 ** _CLK CLK_** -Two Ion shots pounded right into the center of his cuirass' back.

He hissed from the jolting movement- spun around right in time to see another synth leap through one of the hole's in ceiling to the floor above.

The synthetic stopped its fall by grabbing the rim of the blasted fissure in the paneling- it swung its legs forwards, and, unbelievably- the android used the momentum to propel itself in a downwards angle all the way from up there, to down where Sanford was.

The synth had to have sailed thirty feet- its boots jabbed outwards-

 ** _CLACK!_**

-Where it then bunched them together, and nailed Sanford right in the chest with its metal heels.

The young man gasped from the impact- he stumbled, the suit whirred and whined- **_BMMK_** -his back compressed against the plaster wall by the doorframe, and the synthetic warrior landed on its heels in front of him effortlessly.

 ** _ssshHHK-BZZZZzzz..._** -It's arm folded in at the elbow, a black projection pillar slid out, and the android brandished a holo-blade.

"-...Oh shit..." Sanford grumbled- frozen for a moment against the wall. "-SHIT!"

 ** _CRSSSKKK! zzzzz..._**

-He reered right, ducked out of the way- the android impaled the plaster of the wall where his head had been- ran the holographic blade all the way to the hilt, by its elbow.

Sanford unlatched his sword from his hip, activated it, and swung it downwards-

 ** _CSHK!_** -He severed the synth's arm at the joint. The android made a garbling sound from its unmoving, skeletal mouth- it leapt back on dancing legs.

-More rustling from the doorway, footsteps, garbling sounds from the synths' strange, unintelligeable communications.

Sanford swung around, and caught another holo-blade with the flat of his cutlass brought to bare before his gut- he swept the blade away, danced the sword in a loop over the synthetic's head- and then arced it around to decapitate it swiftly.

He used his foot to cast the staggering corpse away- the sword slashed left, right, left, right, left, right- Sanford screamed out in uncontrolled rage as he cut a swathe through the mob of synthetic soldiers that tried to flow in from the body-strewn doorway of the hall outside.

Sanford was a machine- he had never downed so many foes at once in his life- he hacked away with his sword, parried, used the handle of his rifle like a blunt, fired it one-handed and point blank into any foes he couldn't reach with the cutlass.

Sparking, mangled, and smoking bodies tumbled all over- by his boots, past his legs, past his flanks- sometimes the dead androids became so clogged around him that he had to heave bodies over his shoulders or around his arms.

Any synths that were still operational on the ground were rendered lifeless as they clawed their ways towards him- he would step on heads, on backs, he'd shoot them with dismissive bursts.

"-RAAGH-!" Sanford cut one of his Institute victims in two from the hip- he was standing from the combat-move's position, and then- **_wwWHM-!_** -a holo-blade sailed right over his head.

Sanford backtracked- he brought up his rifle and sprayed the large opponent with the rest of the battery.

 ** _CSHKSCK CHSK CHSKSKSSK_** -The carbon beams whittled away in flashes of light across the hexagonal-patterned, aqua girth of the synthetic squad leader's arm shield.

The larger robotic monstrosity advanced towards him under the fire- the shield eating away all of Sanford's shots- he eventually swept the gun down, bore his cutlass. The squad leader butted the shield forwards- using it like a blunt weapon -and Sanford stumbled back when metal shrieked, and the force of the impact staggered his footing.

 ** _wwhHM!_**

 ** _WHM!_**

 ** _wwhm!_**

-The holo-blade danced back and forth- Sanford reared back his helmet, ducked, and angled left as the weapon sailed by each time.

 ** _CSK!_** -Their blades collided, the synth stepped back and Sanford advanced.

 ** _CSK-cchhhhskkKKK!_** -Both combatants weapons conjoined, and they dragged down, and then up where they seperated, Sanford brought his gun up from the other side- **_PMPMPMPMPM-_**

 ** _CSHSKCHK!_** -The synth leader leant behind its shield.

-Sanford tried to side-step it, and his foe warded him back to its front by holding its shield out like a barrier.

Sanford cried out again and started swinging like a madman-

 ** _CSK! cks! CKS-chhssskkkKKKK! CHSK chsk CHSK!_**

He, did not, have TIME, for this.

They locked blades back and forth, up and down, parry for parry- Sanford backed the larger synthetic soldier down the hall- both enemies stomping through the heaped remains of the leader's entire unit across the floors, and against walls.

The sword fight continued with flashes of light, liquid-like energy dripping and casting away with each ringing kiss the blades dealt upon each other- they now stood in the mouth of the hallway, back in the entrance wing lobby- the sounds of combat echoing throughout the building.

"-rrRRRRAAGGHH!-" **_-wwhhhMMM-CSHK!_** -Sanford ducked his chest to his armored knees, dodged a sidewind that went right over his head- and drew the cutlass through both ankles of the synth leader.

The android garbled loudly- sparks flew, and the cutlass ate all the way through both limbs and emerged on the other side through the calves. The great robotic fighter sprawled on its back by Sanford's side- limbs flying, stubby-knees kicking.

Sanford spun around and jabbed the tip of his sword into the squad leader's temple.

The blade ran half-way through, causing a sparking, internal flicker inside the synth's entire cranium- its limbs shivered, and Sanford ground his teeth as he wrung the hilt- and subsequently the synth's head -back and forth, back and forth, and effectively tore the weapon out with a shriek of metal.

The android's limbs clattered still on the tile.

The holo-shield and holo-blade flickered away, soot steamed up from its head and knees.

Sanford stood hunched over in a wing filled with bodies. He'd won. Again.

Nothing but silence now.

Sanford heaved a few times, and he stretched his back until he felt a disk crack- grunting in some measure of relief. He looked at his scanners, saw nothing immediate to him, and then glanced out at the hallway down to his side, littered with synthetic corpses, and he looked at the few bodies dotting the lobby ahead.

He shook his head, feeling lightheaded as the adrenaline started draining.

He wasn't going to let the Institute stop him. Not now, not ever.

...But, boy, was he tired.

...Hancock's distress beacon was still singing in his hearing.

...'Suppose he HAD to do something about that.

Sanford shut his eyes again and sighed. He stepped over the synth squad leader and made for the doors to the campus courtyards.

After this, he was sleeping for a week straight, and he'd even shut Hancock off to ensure that.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	57. Chapter 56

**CHAPTER 56**

 **Xenophobia.**

* * *

There had been a lot of... Questionable, to say the least- experiments that had gone on before and after the war in what would become the Enclave, and they all revolved around varying, unethical things and techniques.

Some were simplistic- how did the human body react to THIS kind of trauma? Or this kind of burn?

Some were needless and sadistic- what would happen if we injected three subjects with an experimental strain of the GARGANT Virus and put them in a room with twenty clean ones?

Some were a little more calculating and interesting- how can we collapse the molecular matter of a human being and reassemble it somewhere else at any distance in the world?

-That last one was something the Enclave had tested for ages, and had never really mastered.

Of course all kinds of horrible, outlandish data had been gathered from the internal representatives in Vault-Tec with their 'Social Experiment' Vaults, which the Enclave High Command was very happy to collect the archives from decades later after the inhabitants had met their peril.

More results had been gathered from tests run by Enclave Scientific Teams within the Capital Rig or Raven Rock, or the M-100, or even Area-51 and Little Skull- and these were all kinds of things, like weapons' reports, munitions creation processes, chemical cocktails and how to use them, medical science and logistics science...

But teleportation?

Out of all these things- the development of aerial assets in the form of the VB-02 Vertibird? The re-adoption of pre-War U.S. Army ground and air tactics that had allowed them to smash the largest nation in the world back in the 2060's and 70's? There had been no teleportation matched.

Mighty aggravating too, if Laslar could add.

The Institute. Big-headed scumbags who thought it just swimmingly dapper to duck in their little foxholes of metal and shields, and let an army of robotic freaks do all the dirty work for them. The Institute were cowards.

Blatant, boot-licking, unadulterated COWARDS. And Laslar hated them like he did everyone and everything else he deemed cowardly.

That was why, as he left the vicinity of his new Vertibird, with ten of his men, including Sergeant Luft, in tow- he felt a rank stench upon the air that was the very cowardice he strove to eradicate, every day of his life.

The Institute Courser named- 'XM-988' -walked ahead of them with a triangular formation of eight other synthetic warriors- and as if to make the situation seem more... TRUSTWORTHY... (A nasty word in Laslar's opinion)- they all had their backs to the Enclave soldiers, but that meant nothing, because the Institute had seemingly forgotten that Laslar's whole team had signature readings in their helmets.

There were synthetic snipers everywhere.

A whole squad to the east, in the upper stories of one of the CIT buildings, in the Great Dome up ahead, on the exterior roof itself- and in the Architectural School to the west- Laslar didn't need a reading to understand tens of Ion rifles were trained on him and his men.

Knowing full well that scientists within the Institute facility were listening to their radio chatter- after all, this was a rather risky situation that these people had put themselves in -Laslar had already briefed the combat team on radio silence, and what to do against varying situations.

There were four guys left with the Vertibird and its two pilots- their job was to monitor, in turn, Institute communications and maintain whereabouts on all signatures in the campus properties. The plan here was to barter the Deathclaw into their posession- even though XM-988 claimed the Director of the Secession was willing to simply part with it- Laslar had suspicions that there was more at work here then a warding off for the Enclave's favor.

To him, and to the rest of High Command- a war with the Institute was a thing to be avoided, as, not only would the losses it would encur be unneeded and simply wasteful- but, arguably, by defeating the Institute they would be destroying the only resource worth taking from them- and that was the people.

The bright minds of the Institute and the technologies they had created would be ruined in extensive combat throughout their facility- and if they were ever to fall beneath the Enclave, Eden, Laslar, and every other officer wanted to ensure it would be as bloodless as possible, for the benefit's sake.

The Institute had powerful squads of cohesive and wickedly fast reacting synthetic soldiers- but they only had so many, and the Enclave outnumbered them vastly with a near 20 Division strong professional army.

The Institute would put up a fight, but... not THAT big of a fight.

The goal was the same though. The Enclave showed as an emissary, today, not a conquerer.

So this brought up the discussion around teleportation.

"-We shall commence transition procedures at the base of the Central Structure." XM-988 droned from ahead. "Do not be alarmed by a sudden feeling of lightheadedness. I've been told it passes within seconds."

Laslar grunted to the pleasantries dismissively.

All of their Power Armored boots clacked and rung roughly against the dirt-filled lots of the courtyard for the campus- in contrast to the Enclave's bulky lumbering, the synths were skeletal in their movements, limber, and silent, the only sounds they gave off being slight whines of servos in their knee joints.

Laslar spent a good minute examining one of them with his eyes darting across its spindly, white-colored form.

The synthetics were matted with stains of soil, mud, some of their armor was cracked and there were portions of it missing altogether- exposing the 'Un-Armored' curves of synthetic metal making the outer coverings for their circuit-laden interiors.

These were 'Generation-2' classifications of their models- Laslar understood that 1's and 2's weren't even capable of complex, independent thought- it was the 3's that were advanced enough to provide such intricacies.

But even as tools, as weapons- seeing the unkempt forms of many of the synthetic operating systems was a sight good for morale- at least for himself. Spoke to the Institute's limitations.

Eleven sets of heavy boots clocked and clacked onto the first steps of a great flight, leading up to the pillar-lined mouth of the Great Dome's front entrance hab- there were grand wooden doors that once, had probably been polished and well kept- and now were riddled with holes and tears.

The synthetics scaled two-steps at a time with each rise and fall of their silent feet- the Enclave soldiers had to clumsily tip-toe up behind them.

"The teleportation matrix can home in on our position inside the Central Structure's foyer." XM-988 informed them all. "Beyond the doors, we request all members of this party to remain still, as to avoid possible setbacks."

"Setbacks? Elaborate." Laslar grunted as they reached the top plat of the flight.

"Organics particularly are at risk of dismemberment if teleportation procedures aren't followed precisely. This is still a work in progress, Superintendent."

"Mighty fine of me to overhear that..." Luft rolled his eyes. "Your snipers aren't very disciplined, Courser, half them gave away their hiding places, moving from window to window like that... C'mon."

"Forget it." Laslar said. "I'm not here for snipers or teleporters. Do what you have to do to get us below ground."

"Assuredly, Superintendent, we have no desire to implicate hostilities. Merely precautionary." XM-988 even held the great door ajar when they reached the frame.

The synthetic leader clenched the rusty, bronze handle, dangled his Ion rifle by his hip and stepped inside the creaking, tall entryway- the whole door moaned on ancient hinges, and dust slithered down its ruined surfaces everywhere.

XM-988's synths stood on either side of the frame- and the darkened interior of the Great Dome of the Commonwealth Institute of Technology school and campus, was revealed as a great mass of shadows overlooking an empty wing, with an overloft from the second and third stories above.

Laslar ground his teeth and stepped into the frame without so much as a pause- his men outside, including Luft, DID pause before going in after him.

XM-988 swung the door shut and followed behind them- the old, large frame smacking roughly as it was sealed- **_BMMmmmm..._** -And then it echoed throughout the barren halls of the Great Dome.

"THIS, is the Institute?" Luft asked naively, hefting his Laser rifle in his grip, and casting glances about the dark, rubble-strewn warrens and wing. "Messy, don't you think?"

"Shut up." Laslar warned in a grumble. "Keep it low key, this isn't a typical deployment. Let me do the talking."

"Aye-aye."

"Courser, are we ready?"

"Certainly." XM-988 held up one of his porcelain looking arms- and beside a cylindrical launcher that had a small feed of three tube-like darts sticking out the side of it- he holstered his Ion rifle over his back, used his free hand to click a few sigils on his wrist. "Begin transfer."

Laslar rolled his eyes and watched the synthetic commander with impassability.

...The soldiers started to glance between the two of them, and Luft was sifting on his heels, wanting to open his mouth again.

...Now what?

Laslar huffed and went to speak-

 ** _CHSK! zzzzzzzzzzz..._**

-There was a quick flash of whiteness, so quick, that you could blink and miss it- he suddenly felt uneasy, Laslar supported himself with a catch of his right boot behind where it had been planted- he blinked a few times and realized he felt nauseous.

Luft and the eight other men were in similar dissarray- their armors' systems tried to compensate for the swimming sensations they were being afflicted with to little avail.

"What happened?" Laslar growled, raising his Tri-Archer from the hip.

"Welcome to the Institute, gentlemen."

"-Who-?"

Laslar spun around to a voice he had not heard before.

He gasped when he took in his surroundings.

The ten Enclave soldiers were now standing on a podium of reflective, bluish chrome- there were skeletal moorings of polished steel and silvery metals that formed an enwrapping ribcage around the podium, and supported curved panes of glass dividing their bubble from an external rotunda of wire and pipe-laden walls lining a chute descending downwards.

Thin, rectangular light fixtures lined the top rims of the chute and beamed illumination through the glass bubble of the podium- five struts of toothed pillars surrounded the glass on all sides, and Laslar realized that they were on a lift, that lowered down the shaft that the glass kept them from.

He looked at XM-988, the synthetic now standing before him, with a slightly shorter man now beside him- in a white lab coat, with tan trousers, black dress shoes- with gray hair making a messy bundle on top of his head, and the stubble under his nose being the signs of a recently shaved mustache.

The man had to be in his forties, maybe early fifties- he adjusted one of the sleeves of his lab coat and straightened it with a roll of his shoulders- smiling at Laslar and the group of soldiers he had brought.

"Director Ordy, head of staff of the Secession of the Commonwealth Institute of Technology, at your service, Superintendent. A, Mr...?" Ordy angled his head.

 ** _Ch-CMM_**

-The lift podium jolted lightly, and then, the toothed pillars started to phase past the glass of the lift, upwards- the chute started sifting upwards too as the elevator descended. Laslar glanced at it, and looked back at Ordy who hadn't even blinked, waiting for a name patiently.

"Laslar." The Superintendent grunted. "I hear you have a Deathclaw I want."

"The Subject, indeed." Ordy nodded, still smiling- it made Laslar angry, seeing the grin. "We would be willing to part with her."

"On what grounds?" Laslar sneered. "There's no such thing as giveaways, DIRECTOR." -He used that word in a spitting sense.

"On the grounds that you take the subject and LEAVE." Ordy kept on baring his teeth to it. "I'll be quick about it, Laslar Seduun,"

-Laslar reclined his head with a bit of an impressed snicker.

"-Me and my team have very important work, projects, and knowledge that we independently maintain and utilize for our own interests and purposes, THUS, we do not have any incentive to cause conflict with or even maintain contact with, the Enclave, or anyone else for that matter.

Furthermore, that subject is quite an important asset to me, and if it means losing that asset to preserve the safety of this installation, then my hand is grudgingly forced to bid to your whim with this. Please understand, that I'm trying to set the table as to avoid any possible interaction or run-ins, so to speak, with each other in the far or near future. Does this sound agreeable?"

"VERY." Laslar frowned. "What have you contained the 'Claw in?"

"A stasis tube of our own design. Tranquilizers subdued her, and we continuously pump mitigated chemicals into her bloodstream to prevent possible struggling."

"How do you plan on transporting this freak to our 'bird outside, Director?"

"We're giving you the tube as well." Ordy folded his hands.

"Agreeable."

"We should be arriving now."

Ordy turned around as the mechanical, chrome chute outside the glass of the lift suddenly lifted away for a tube of exterior glass descending straight downwards.

Glancing over the chin of the podium's floor, the Director smiled- as he always enjoyed the view from this height at the top of the lift. Laslar ground his teeth, and stepped up beside the Director to gaze down at the sprawling magnificence of technological brilliance below.

This, was the REAL Institute.

Like skyscrapers, there were four curling structures that were lined with flourescently aqua-lit windows that splayed in the form of buttresses across a plated, curving, smooth-textured bubble ceiling of chrome, centered with the glass tube of the lift.

These buildings acted as spines down an oval-shaped chamber of massive proportions- they flowed down walls lined with more windows, skywalks that curled out and angled back into the varying levels of the walls that were entirely transparent tubes.

There was a plateau of curling chrome with thin railings that extended from the midsection of one of these wall buildings- it wrapped in a circle around the tube of the elevator lift, forming a platform for the podium to base and disgorge its passengers.

The plateau made a walkway that extended outwards to a gate on the building's face- mechanical, motion-sensing- there was a line of synthetic soldiers on either side of the walkway, guns holstered by their hips, faces staring across at each other blankly, and silently, like statues.

Below this walkway was a rotunda lower-level, lined with doors and gates at the feet of the four spinal structures running down the titanic oval-chamber's flanks- there were three large, wheel-locked water gates down there facing towards the south- Laslar noted they were angled in the direction of the bay outside, above ground, and he knew why.

Small groves of trees were being grown between each of the four massive towers in what looked like miniature forests of varying greenery and top level- there were ringing walkways at the towers' bases, just above the doors on the ground rotunda.

A waterfall was descending from inside one of the groves from a fissure in a brief hill of stacked stones, producing mist that glowed ambiently with all the white and blue lights illuminating the entire chamber.

"Splendid work, I hope?" Ordy hummed in musing.

"Impressive." Laslar said. "How far to this holding pen of yours?"

"We've kept her in stasis in the Sector-2 Labs." Ordy explained.

 ** _CHK-cmmm..._** The lift jolted again, metal rang, it stopped descending, and a pane of curved glass that Laslar hadn't even seen beforehand- folded away on the bubble of the lift's pod, allowing a clear step off the podium and onto the chrome of the raised walkway at this level.

Ordy gestured for the opening, and stepped out onto the walk- his shoes clocking against the metal.

Laslar followed him, boots thudding in transition from the slight bevel in height-difference, his ten men followed closely- the lift rose an inch from the releif of wieght, and XM-988 spiraled around them to stand beside the Director.

"If you'll follow me, gentlemen," Ordy gestured for the gateway at the end of the walk, down the two rows of stilled synthetic soldiers. "Sector-2 Labs is towards the center ring of our facility's chamber structures."

"On with it." Laslar nodded.

The group proceeded between the twin rows of synthetics silently- all of the Enclave servicemen had their eyes locked on the androids- they kept their guns in grip, all Plasma rifles besides Luft- and Laslar himself contrasted his men's concerns with a blank stare to Ordy's back.

The motion-sensors for the gateway picked them up- and the big metal doorway, relfective across its curved surface, slid aside on both flanks in the blink of an eye- revealing a hallway of blue walls and a bulky, multi-plated chrome ceiling.

A pair of lab-coated men crossed from one bulkhead to another further down the door-lined passage as Ordy stepped through the frame, and the Enclave men followed.

Whilst they trekked, the passage remained relatively inactive- every now and again, pairs, or threes of men and women in lab coats with blue shirts, red and tan ties- emerged from ajar bulkheads on either side of the tunnel, and they waited for the entourage to pass before crossing.

"You're not much for conversations, are you, Superintendent?" Ordy asked up ahead suddenly.

"No." Laslar grunted. "How far is this lab?"

"We have to pass by Retention-1 facilities, and after that, Sector-2 Labs will be right before us."

True to the Director's word- eventually the hallway broke for a three-way intersection, with a doorway just ahead, and, completely ignoring the passes that went left and right, Ordy stepped up to the door and waited for it to slide aside.

 ** _SHK_**

-Ordy and XM-988 stepped through the pill-like entryway easily, Laslar and his team had to shuffle and duck through it after them.

A large rectangular, ware-house like chamber was revealed to them- and on both sides there was a racket being produced from whirring machinery, spinning cogs, sparking wires and screaming welders. Laslar saw people walking among quads of glass tubes that had networks of robotic arms descending from their roofs that went all the way up to the ceiling, probably two stories.

Inside the pods were half-assembled bodies of varying synthetics- mostly Generation-2 models, but there were some that were silvery, skeletal, very thin and lithe...

...He realized the workers standing among these pods, tapping away at wheeled console carts, and clicking their spindly fingers on electronic touch tablets were indeed these skeletal beings.

Generation-1 synths, the workforce. They looked... Disturbing.

"Interesting." Laslar narrowed his eyes as one of the Gen-1's stalked nearby- its limbs utterly silent in traverse, its thin feet clicking against the plated, bluish-cream colored tiles of the floor.

"State of the art!" Ordy called over his shoulder through the noise.

They reached a bulkhead on the other side of the factory- a pair of Gen-2's armed with rifles stepped on either side when the Director approached, the door slid aside, him and the Courser vanished beyond, and Laslar and his team again had to struggle to squeeze after him.

Another hallway, straight, no other ways.

This was getting tedious.

"Director." Laslar growled.

"Right here, gentlemen." Ordy smiled. The last door slid away, the frame being thankfully larger- and the entire party stepped through it. "Sector-2 Labs."

Rows and rows of consoles made the beginnings and most of the center of the chamber- it extended outwards, barred from them by a railing, and two small flights of steps on either side of the podium after the doorway that lead down a level.

The ceiling was two stories high- laden with pipes and interconnecting wires and ports- the computers were patrolled and manned by a team of maybe thirty or thirty five Institute staff members, and a cluster of Gen-1 synths.

On the sides of the chamber there were large energy cells and storage tanks- a few workdesks with strewn tablets and papers.

At the end of the room, across from them- there were four tanks, translucent, cylinder shaped with bubbling, yellow interiors- they were capped with pipe-crossed structures of chrome and white metal, they each had a console at their bases, and they all had four large wheels on carriage mountings.

All the tubes were vacant.

Except one.

Laslar felt his heart jump.

"Welcome to one of the thinking hearts of the Institute, we-"

"Take me over there." Laslar grunted, interrupting Ordy's speil.

The Director glanced at him, sighed, and nodded along XM-988.

The group descended the stairs, and, immediately, all of the scientists working and bustling about were stopped in their tracks by this group of armed foreigners traversing THEIR lab.

All talking, footsteps, and clicking of keyboards stopped- even the Gen-1 synths were looking up- but at their masters, awaiting orders.

"There's no need to be alarmed," Ordy held his arms up as he walked. "Superintendent Laslar Seduun is with the Enclave, he means no harm."

Laslar shot around the Director, and left both him and the Courser, and his own men, behind as he bee-lined for the pods in the back of the chamber.

A few scientists stepped deeper behind the rows of computers as Laslar passed by the flank of the array- he soon stood before the four pods, concentrating on the second one to the right- where a great, bulky, humanoid shape was shaded and levitating within.

It had long arms, big hands with big nails that could cut through steel- there was a breather mask cupped over the tip of its long, reptilian snout- it had a slender waist that evened out for greater distribution at the thighs and ribcage.

He had finally found it.

His God damned experiment.

Laslar grinned sadistically.

"Luft, unlock the wheels." Laslar said gleefully. "Chesser, Lihan, Gril, push it behind me and the others."

"-Excuse me," A woman interjected from behind.

Laslar spun around with a feral snarl leaving his lips.

"-WHAT." He growled.

"-You can't take our subject, it's irreplacable!" The woman was wearing a lab coat, was older, had black-ish'-gray hair and looked like a rather unpleasent person to converse with.

"Now now, Valerie," Ordy hurriedly stood between the computers and Laslar, holding up his arms. "-We discussed the release of the subject, to the Enclave."

"We discussed representatives visiting," Another man wearing big spectacles, called from inside the rows of computers- he stood up, he was bald, and he was wiry thin beneath his coat. "Not ARMED SOLDIERS, taking our subject."

"I told you all, that the subject was to be released!" Ordy roared.

"We debated it, there was no concensus!" The man snapped.

"And WHY would you let them in?!" Valerie cried. "They're outsiders! Wastelanders! Who knows what kind of diseases and parasites they brought with them!"

"DON'T," Laslar barked, jabbing a finger. "-Refer to ME, as a Wastelander."

"Don't POINT at me!" Valeria growled.

"-Please people! We need to avoid-"

"You all don't seem to understand," Laslar called out amongst the chamber. "You all do not have a CHOICE, in this matter. The Deathclaw, is MINE, has always been MINE, and will now be under MY possession, is your facility worth an animal?"

"Director," Valerie quivered. "-This is, inexcusable."

"-I have to add my disapproval too, Director." The bald man called over.

"Both of you must come to terms with the fact that the Enclave, is NOT our enemy!" Ordy said. "We give them the subject!"

"What about that loud mouthed model we got with her?" The bald man suggested. "Maybe you'd want the next best thing, Superintendent?"

"What is he talking about?" Laslar snarled. "Give me the fucking reptile and our business is DONE."

"...We found the Wastelander, you know Superintendent, the one causing us both many issues?"

"You found him?"

"We found his robot."

"...Show me."

"Right this way-"

"Rest of you, stay with the pod." Laslar snapped. "Let's go, Director."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

The old courtyards of the campus for the CIT were in some pretty rough shape- and that was saying something, because, well, EARTH, was in rough shape. There were still some miniscule swathes of grass growing around here and there, there were fissures in the walls of some of the buildings that belched out mounds of debris forming mountains several stories high.

Sections of wall had fallen away on parts of the enwrapping school buildings, exposing rectangular or square-shaped 'Skeletal' sections that were crisscrossed with rusty steel girders and rotted interior floors.

His sensors within the helmet of his X-01 were still yapping up a storm about the Enclave Vertibird, and the small amount of sigils still persisting around it.

He wasn't close enough to the other sections of the campus- but he could pick up some more distant robotic signatures that were on higher elevations than he was- and undoubtedly those were more snipers.

Sanford felt his gut doing loops as he quickly tried to get himself out of the open upon leaving the front entrances to the courtyards of the campus. He left a building full of destroyed synthetics behind him- and in the wake of that victory his thoughts were still not easy.

Luckily, as he cleared the doorframe, swept his aim about- he noticed one of these mountains of debris that had cascaded from the out-folding girth of the building's structure by the side of a flight of stairs he emerged onto.

Sanford jogged down the brief flight, his boots hitting soil, and he hid behind an outcropping arm of stone, that had once been a window's arch on the Architectural School's side. The rubble here had been laid out and compressed for so long, that it literally looked like a mound of dirt stuck-through with stones, bricks, metals and woods.

Sanford remembered a comment Hancock had made about how detail-lacking rubble seemed to be.

What a bunch of nonsense.

It made Sanford grin.

Adjusting his scope on the rifle- he peered out of the cover he had alotted, and he saw, parked out there, right in the middle of the courtyard, landed over the crumbling, faint remains of one of the many concrete walkways intersecting the fields- was a VB-02 Vertibird gunship, inactive.

The dark drab craft had an 'E' with a ring of stars emblazoned on its tail fins and on the top ribcage of the fuselage- Sanford saw movement by the craft's flank, and, hanging under there without a care in the world it seemed, was a fully armored Enclave soldier.

It was the standard Power Armor he had seen on most of the other Enclave members he had come across- there was a rifle in his grip, with glowing green pylons sticking out of a wiry mess on the top of the frame. Plasma gun.

Sanford had come out here ready for a fight- but... it seemed that the guys hanging out with the gunship had no idea he was here.

Didn't they have scanners just like his?

Sanford had noticed that a lot now- it seemed the Enclave had a very, very hard time pinpointing him, and he couldn't understand it.

...Sanford jumped a bit, suddenly, unexpectededly- he looked down at the cutlass magnetically holstered to his hip plate, deactivated.

He could've swore he had heard someone talking.

" _...Garn! Check it...!_ " -A voice droned out from inside the Vertibird. The soldier that was standing under the wing glanced over his shoulder, turned around, and hopped up to step inside the ajar troop bay door in the Vertibird's ribs.

Sanford blinked at his own irrationality. Of course he heard talking, these freaks didn't even know he was there.

So far the armor-piercing capabilities of his newly improved gun had been working wonders, but... Sanford admitted to himself, he was a tad wary of simply trying to mow down the Enclave soldiers, that armor was good.

He recalled that instance where he had shot one of them point blank in the head with the combat shotgun back at the gas station- that guy wasn't even stunned before Sanford killed him in that tussle.

Sanford grumbled.

Well, he had nothing else to shoot them with, so... Here he went.

He flicked the control knob on the gun's frame to -'S'- for semi', and checked the scope again without needing to.

He slowly inched out to aim over the corner of the large slab of curling stone he hid behind- he tried to flatten his body and armor as much as possible behind the rolling hill of rubble. He lined his sights with the Vertibird's troop bay- the crosshair of his scope at its ajar center.

Sanford didn't have to wait long for the soldier from before to walce out and take his place under the wing again, Sanford caught his head in the epicenter of the hairs and followed it magnet-like.

He was close enough, couldn't be farther than twenty five yards.

Sanford bit his tongue, shut his left eye, and held his finger over the trigger.

He waited a second, saw the guy huff in idleness beneath his suit- and fired.

 ** _PM_**

-A quick snapping sound, the drone of fried ozone, a single red beam shot out.

The munitions hit the man's helmet temple- there was a flash of sparks, his whole head jerked roughly to the side, and his hands opened up and dropped the Plasma rifle he had been holding.

The Enclave servicemen spun completely around on his heels- like some sickly interpretive dance -and then tumbled on his side with a rattling of steel, and a thudding of heavy tonnage impacting the earth.

Sanford almost sat bolt upright.

...It... Worked.

Oh hell yeah.

"...NICE..." He smiled down at his own gun.

His sensors started going nuts again.

First thing he did was slip out of cover, behind all the rubble.

 ** _WHM-WHM_**

 ** _WHM-WHM_**

 ** _WHM-crsSSKK!_**

-Dust erupted all over the spot he had been in.

Ion shots.

The synths had already determined where he was, and they were probably quite keen on notifying the Enclave in that Vertibird.

Sanford looked around- he had kind of trapped himself back here, because the only way he could avoid running out into the open of the stairs was to try and climb over the debris behind him, which was suicidal, putting himself at an open height like that.

His sensors eventually identified a few synthetics on the roof of the Great Dome building at the end of the campus courtyard- maybe five or six, and they were relocating.

He made sure the sigils were still moving- then he crouched over and aimed from the exact same spot- lining his scope up with the squared roof of the Great Dome. He scanned for a bit. There.

A bunch of skinny robotic people running across a rooftop? Nothing suspicious there.

Sanford started firing.

 ** _PM_**

 ** _PMPM_**

 ** _PM_**

 ** _PM_**

He caught one in the chest, another in the gut, ANOTHER in the chest- he missed six shots in a row.

Leaning back when the synthetic survivors vanished up there, back behind the lip of the roof- he cursed and switched sides for his battery charge. He was NOT, a designated sharpshooter. Sanford hated sharpshooting.

 ** _whmwhmwhmwhmwhmwhm-_** The roar of an engine, spinning rotary blades.

Sanford went wide eyed and aimed around the corner again-

-But there was an Enclave soldier standing by the side of the Vertibird with a long-nosed, thin barreled, bulky-handled rifle. The guy was no joke- he snapped that mutha' up and nailed Sanford's shoulder pauldron all the way from where he was, even in cover.

 ** _pw-TINNG!_** -The shell made a bouncing ring in the air as it rebounded off the layered metals of his shoulder.

Sanford gasped and fired as a few potshots as he dove back- one of the bolts flew right by the soldier's head, and it planted into the left engine of the Vertibird.

As Sanford read his readings for the suit's integrity in his HUD- he heard a stopping sound, like, a beating piston in a car when one of the cylinders wasn't working. He peaked around the edge again- and before he was forced to duck when Plasma fire peppered his position- he saw that black soot was misting out of a small gash in the engine's flank, wisking away as the blades were turning.

That shot had punched clean through? AND he had killed another soldier before with a single shot?

Sanford suddenly adored long-range shooting. He switched to 'A' on the frame's knob.

 ** _PMPMPMPMMPM_**

-The Enclave soldier with the Guass rifle flew back- his breastplating blowing wide open for a gash of blackened crimson- sparks and flecks of destroyed organic matter made tendrils through the air as the guy fell out on his back.

There were two other soldiers standing beside him- and they actually faltered for a brief minute at the sight of their comrade getting bulldozed.

They glanced at each other and started running to get back inside the Vertibird- whose troop bay doors were still open even though it was trying to lift off.

Sanford aimed out again.

This time, he lined up his scope with the Vertibird's bubble-like cockpit.

 ** _PMPMPMPMPMPMPM_**

-The beams punched into the thinner armor- and while all Sanford saw were flashes of red, sparks and a single lick of flame- unbeknownst to him, his assumption had been right on the dot, and those beams pierced the bubble canopy of the craft, and then proceeded to bounce around the interior of the Vertibird's cockpit.

Before the destructive end to this fight- briefly -the inside of the Vertibird's pilot chamber looked like someone had thrown in a bucket of chum with several fragmentation grenades- messy.

Sanford ducked when response fire forced his head down- but from behind cover he was able to watch the Vertibird suddenly list as it ascended into the air.

The craft got up a few feet, smoke started broiling from a series of punctures in the bubble observation slots- and suddenly the right wing swung too low.

 ** _WHMWHMWHMW-wwwwwwhhhhHHHHHMMMMM-_** The propellor ate into the soil of the ground- the blades slowing in their buzzsaw-like rotation as they churned through pounds of dirt and shattered into trailing, blackened strips that were catapulted all over the place.

The whole aircraft shuttered and jerked- the wing was propelled backwards- in the direction of the spinning, dirt-eating blades of the engine- the fuselage angled up at the sky and the tail plowed into the ground.

The Vertibird looked like it was tearing itself apart- flinging pieces of itself, the earth, and the quick flicking shapes of vaguley humanoid shadows from the two Enclave soldiers who were caught in the propellor and chopped up.

A flash of light sparked in the fuselage.

Sanford's jaw dropped in horror- he tossed himself in a ball behind the mounds of debris.

 ** _psk-BMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!_**

-A fiery mushroom cloud, three stories tall, bloomed as the blackened hulk of the Vertibird abruptly popped open and released a pluming, broiling fist of flame that jutted up into the cloudless blue sky, and lit up the whole courtyard a faint shade of amber.

Metal and soil, and MORE metal flung around everywhere in a flailing, spinning hailstorm all over the place- Sanford coudn't observe the majority of the explosion as he was covering his helmet with his gauntlets.

If he hadn't been in the armor, he would've felt a wash of heat being dispelled from the Vertibird's bright, fiery death- but the suit still rang out temperature alarms even though he couldn't hear them over the roar of the explosion.

The burst echoed and rebounded down all across the MIT section of the city- and the fire and soot didn't start to revolve away and fade down to the smouldering wreck of the aircraft for another few minutes.

Sanford eventually willed himself to scramble on the ground- unballing himself, grabbing at the stone above his helmed head- he stood bolt upright and observed the mounded, black, fire-licked remains of mechanical and metal scrap that USED to be the Vertibird.

The right wing was sticking out into the air from the flaming mess- bent, and scorched all over- almost symbolizing something like the aircraft's personified last clench to the heavens for survival.

Sanford's quivering palm clenched over the cranium of his helmet.

 ** _bn_**

 ** _bn_**

 ** _bn_**

 ** _BN_**

 ** _BMM_**

"-WOAH!" Sanford ducked when one of the landing gear's burnt wheels bounced across the dirt three times, then hit a plate of metal sprawled out before his rubble pile, and catapulted through the air right over his head.

The giant donut-shaped object vanished in some of the smoke kicked up across the courtyard behind his position- he heard plaster snap and rocks crumble. Then silence.

Sanford looked back at the wreck, now crackling with embers.

"...That was... That was fucking awesome." He smiled slowly.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

They had to retrace some of the prior route they had taken to reach the Sector-2 Labs- but they diverged for a leftwards turn, took an outer ring hallway in a half-U-turn, and they ended up in a section that Director Ordy coined the 'Specimen Internment.'

"Just be cautious when approaching some of the holding pens, MOST of our subjects are sedated, others are not."

"Why's that?" Laslar asked.

"We can't always get the darts to work, and it's harder to get someone close enough for a hand-injection."

A bulkhead slid aside- and immediately, the first thing that filled Laslar's hearing was a deafening, throat-walloping scream of inhuman proportions. He aimed his Tri-Archer at a pane of glass that was marked with drawling white lines, made by claws and teeth, and misted with spittle.

They were in a rectangular chamber that extended down to the left, lined with panes just like this one- and behind this specific one, was a hunched over, quadruped of scabby fur and rippling musculature.

Laslar quirked a brow at the interned Yao Guai bear behind the containment barrier.

It was a huge mutated animal- it had pupil-lacking white eyes, rows of razor sharp teeth, there were cuts all over its face and its furry body from a hundred scuffles, and there were patches of scabby rash that ran swathes down its dusty gray hide.

The creature growled- its throat quivering as it hunched over and stared with seeming hatred towards the humans outside its pen- which was a detail-lacking cell with a drainage cap in the center. Harsh.

"We call him Larry," Ordy snickered, nodding at the glass. "Feisty."

"Where is this Mr. Gutsy?"

"So you have seen him?"

"Yeah. Now where is he-?"

" _HELLO! Hell-O! Hello!? Lemme' outta' here you Mao Zedong worshipping, cousin' porkin', shit-slathering BASTARDS! I'll rip off your legs and decompact your constipated asses with your own FEET!_ "

"...Follow me." Ordy's eye twitched.

Laslar was close behind the Director as he strolled down past cell after cell, each filled with some varying kind of wildlife from the Commonwealth and beyond.

Laslar stopped by the glass of one of the cells when he noticed something familiar to him from a place long gone- for inside this cell was a ball of curled, dirty scales, that bundled its limbs and tail over its bulky, rounded body in the corner.

A reptilian head rose from its front legs- its jaws hanging open a bit, revealing sharp teeth, and a flicking tongue that tested the air in Laslar's angle behind the glass. It blinked one of its amber, black-slitted eyes, and a chittering hiss sounded from the back of its throat- a thousand spines layering down its back and tail shivered.

That was a Komodo Mutant, Laslar hadn't seen one of them since Texas.

He doted on the creature as it wallowed in its own entrapment inside the cell- followed Ordy once more without a word.

"-Calm yourself, model, you're not getting out any time soon." Ordy smiled into the glass of the cell at the end of the block.

" _-I'll show YOU -'Getting Out'- you wrinkly scumbag! Go take some viagra so you can actually make your nagging bitch-ass wife happy for once in your miserable lives! HA! Take that! First thing to go is the MIND, you lost your wang' first! PUSSY! HA-HA! Ha-ha! U.S.A.! U.S.A! U.S- HEY! I know you!_ "

Laslar stood beside the Director and gazed inside the glass.

There was a drab painted, Mr. Gutsy model robot that was laying on the floor of the cell- with occasional sparks of flickering energy zapping by its arms and its dark engine thruster, it raised one stalk-like eye off the ground to observe the two of them.

Laslar sneered.

"What'd you do to it?"

"We tried removing its weapon systems, but the robot proved... Difficult."

" _-HA! Ah-ha! YEP! Put that ole' big-nosed Communist boot-licker in his place I did! THE BEAUTY OF THE BUZZSAW, baby! WOOO!_ "

"We used an EMP charge, it worked, to a degree."

" _-Can't keep the HAN' down, you fuckers! And same thing to YOU! Texan Slut-bag! Take your rodeo sitcom and shove it up your used, diseased, Rusky' abused ASS!_ "

"Where is your commander, override command section- delta 6, remove personality any, answer command." Laslar grumbled into the glass.

Hancock sat immobile inside the cell for a second.

Ordy opened his mouth to speak-

"Superintendent, we tried using the pre-War Army-"

 ** _FFFFTTTTTTTT_** -The flap on Hancock's storage compartment towards the rear of his chassis flapped open for a second, and disgorged a misting contrail of soot into the air.

" _-WOO! 'Scuse' ME! Aw, GOD UP IN HEAVEN-!_ " Hancock cackled. "- _Holy crap! That's a stench to undo the makers that is! OH, OH CHRIST! I think I shit myself! SMELL YOUR DOOM, COMMIE' FUCKS! SMELL IT!_ "

"...Lord..." Ordy put a fist over his nose, Laslar turned on his suit's air filters.

"I don't want THAT." He spat. "You can keep that. Give me the 'Claw."

" _Oh what's the matter, you Horseshoe-Lickin' Prick?! DEMOCRACY NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU! Fuck you! AND FUCK EVERYTHING YOU STAND FOR!_ "

"I can only imagine what kind of sick, sick man this Wastelander is..." Ordy commented. "-To have a machine like THIS."

" _AH-HAHAHAHA! You just see, bigot!_ " Hancock laughed. " _Ole' San' of the ford', is gonna' walk right up in here, and he's gonna' BURN YOU ALL ALIVE, for what you did to me and that oversized Iguana! YOU JUST WATCH! AH-ha! INCOMING DOOM!_ "

"Can you shut him up?!" Laslar barked, already having stomped to the other end of the cell block. "I'm taking the Deathclaw, we're DONE."

"Laslar, please, listen to me-!"

"- _Oh no! The big bad Texan-Fuck-Face is gonna' eat me! HELP! HELP!_ " -Hancock mocked, his buzzsaw twitching on the floor. " _I'm going to ENJOY watching this! See you in hell, you jeriatric FIEND!_ "

"-Go ahead." Laslar turned away to hail a sudden crackling from his communications mic. He listened.

"Superintendent? What's-?"

"You're out of your fuckin' mind, Director." Laslar pointed his Tri-Archer right at Ordy's head- the Director leapt back and held his hands up, eyes big. "Luft's saying my 'bird just got iced."

"-I specifically gave the synthetics orders to process you and your men as friendly-!"

"Then WHO ELSE, could've blown up, my FUCKING AIRCRAFT?!" Laslar barked.

" _-Ooohh-HO! Here he comes! SANFORD! Ah-ha! SAN-FORD! Holy freezer-fried-gym socks! You people are SCREWED!_ " Hancock announced gleefully inside the last cell. " _-Say hello to your inbred mothers' for me! I'LL BE SURE TO PISS ON ALL YOUR GRAVES! U.S.A! U.S.A! U.S.A!_ "

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	58. Chapter 57

**CHAPTER 57**

 **Here I come, to save the day!**

* * *

From the fading recognition of the fires and smoke, after the last few shreds of gunfire- the place remained still and finally empty, and Sanford Tobs was able to traverse the courtyard of the Commonwealth Institute of Technology, with a calmed demeanor, and without risk.

After the Vertibird's untimely demise, and a few more sharpshooting fights with some straggler synths in the buildings- Sanford trotted through the campus property victorious, having left a thoroughly extensive mess in his wake.

By this point he could feel a heaviness in his eyes, all around and in the sockets- he stunk for how much he had been sweating, his limbs and head ached, and the near endless day of fighting had exhausted him to the point where he had to worry about falling asleep mid-step.

He breathed in tired sighs a few times, his arms slumped, and he kept flicking from examining the scanner recognitions in his HUD, to watching where he trod over the rolling, dirt-filled lot of the campus center.

He had wiped out pretty much everything that had put itself before him to stop him in his drive for the Institute- so now on top of being thoroughly wiped, smelly, in pain- Sanford was angry enough that all of that didn't matter.

All of the horror stories he had heard of, all the people he had killed in the past when it was discovered they were murdering synthetic duplicates- the fact that these bastards took his friends and then shot at him for it- Sanford was livid.

He stomped up the great flight of cracked, dirtied steps of the Great Dome building- locking his eyes to the roof's edge and the rounded girth of the gigantic half-sphere topping the structure.

 ** _CRK! seeeeeeeek..._**

-He shoulder checked a big, moldy, cracked and dusty wood door out of his way, and the foyer beyond echoed with the entry's squeaks and whines. Sanford stood on the border between blackness ahead, and illuminating daylight to his back- appearing a shadow person in the frame of the arch.

He trotted inside, revealing to himself a great entry wing- similar to the one in the Architectural School- filled with arms of dragging rubble, fallen walls, pieces of furniture and trash coating the floors.

Sanford glanced about with his night vision filters- creased his lips, and checked his scanners.

Nothing but Hancock's signal.

And low and behold, it was coming from right underneath him.

Sanford raised a brow to his helmet's readings and glanced down at the toes of his boots. THAT, was where the Institute really was, the campus was a fabrication, it always had been, and he and the Enclave were probably the only people in Boston to know.

Sanford looked around some more- he wandered off to some of the hallways that branched off from the foyer- and all of them were evenly dilapidated, filled with holes in their walls, in their ceilings, some streaming pillars of sunlight through from above.

Dust swirled in storms in all sources of illumination- garbage and debris matted all the floors, and some of the rooms were inaccessible with frames clogged with piles of concrete and wood. Sanford eventually started to become impatient as he scoured the bottom floor of the Great Dome.

He tossed open a set of reddish double-doors, and as he stomped through the frame, he was suddenly tamed for a brief moment in his panicking fury- and before him sprawled a grand ampitheater, four stories tall, with rows of rotted, red seats forming cone-like rows extending down towards a lower level of the chamber.

A big wooden stage was down there- with rods of steel from the winch-activated curtain rods that had fallen from the cieling and shattered all over the wood, and into the front rows. Sanford stood after the doorframe and glanced around the theater- not because he felt there was something important, he just... Thought it was neat.

He hadn't seen a play, or a movie on the big screen in... Probably... Around fifteen, sixteen years? Not counting the two-hundred that divided two of his life's intervals.

It must have been a beautiful place before the bombs.

Sanford looked at some of the rows of seats, and, clearly, lain underneath one of the metal-based chairs facing away from him, was the rounded, cracked, enshadowed mass of a human skull on the floor.

Sanford gave off a little- 'Huh' -and then turned around to continue scouring the building.

 ** _CHK-ceeeeekkk..._** -He opened a door to what looked like a pipe room, or some kind of storage closet that he hadn't checked in, because, usually, unless he was on a scavenging trip stuff like closets didn't provide much.

He was back by the entrance wing he had come through earlier- and, looking inside the shadowy interior of the cell with the expanse of the foyer at his back- he saw four walls laden and laced with rows of rotted pipes that were mangled and cut, from where looters had fruitlessly taken all the copper.

The wood door slung open the whole way, and Sanford leaned his helmet inside the room to glance about- he went to leave, when he saw the antenna.

...There it was.

Sanford gasped and hurried through the frame into the cramped space.

There was an old portable radio on the tiled floor, modified extensively, with circuitry panels and what looked like old motherboards being adhered and linked to internal systems through wire-snaked ports cut into the radio's back.

Sprouting from the top was a silvery antenna, as tall as Sanford was even in the armor- and extending from wires jutting from the radio's one flank, were nodes that were taped in a great hanging web on the walls of the closet, and in places on the floor.

Sanford had found it.

Smiling at his luck- he realized, at that moment of bliss, with a flare of his nostrils, that something smelled... AWFUL.

He looked at the back of the closet to the right-

"-Oh God." Sanford blinked.

-Heaped there was a corpse.

It had to be several months old, it was hard to tell what was still clinging to the last ounces of decay and what was skeletal- repulsively, the humanoid figure looked like it had melted and melded into the corner of the wall it was piled against to the floor.

It looked bunched in a ball, like the person had died in a fetal position- and Sanford also realized that there was another body sprawled out not too far behind the radio device- and when he leaned over the antenna to look, he saw it was an inactive Protectron robot.

The machine was rusted and dusty, with a cluster of burnt holes in its chest from where synthetic soldiers had most likely shot it. Sanford looked over at the corpse.

That must have been Blad's little mechanic friend.

Gengis, right?

Poor slob.

Sanford shook his head, and bent down whilst turning on his X-01's air filters for the stench.

He didn't see any buttons or wires or any kind of switches to 'Turn On' this device, if it even DID turn on.

Sanford dug into the rucksack over his thigh and pulled out the notebook he had acquired from the Pieumont Hotel back in Gengis' workshop- he flipped to the page with the antenna diagram and read some of the scribbles around it.

"...Where can I find a controller for this thing?... Aw, shit." Sanford muttered.

What if the controller was back at the Pieumont?

Oh Christ.

"SHIT." He hissed- slapping a gauntlet over his head.

Turning his chin to the side- as far as the helm would let him, anyway -he pondered either making the trip back, or trying to figure out another way in. But both of those things took TIME, and he didn't HAVE time, because-

...Wait...

-What about the stinkin' corpse a foot away from him?

Sanford clenched his fingers over the rebreather nozzle of his helmet and looked about the rotting remains of Gengis with a disgusted expression about himself.

He saw what once was a handgun of some kind that was partially obscured in a limb of rotten material- probably Gengis' arm and hand- and the gun was all rusty and dirtied with offal that Sanford couldn't even determine a type.

He looked at the floor in front of the corpse.

Right there, you idiot!

"-Yes!" Sanford shoved the book back in the rucksack, and grabbed up a rectangular device lain on the tile, in a bit of shadow, he hadn't noticed it before.

The controller was red in color, had a little power-voltage meter under a snapped square of glass- there were wires wrapped all over the handle and just before the square like girth of the top- a bent antenna stuck out from the nose, refashioned from what looked like some old R.C. vehicle or toy.

The button board on the controller's front had been pried off, and in its place with sloppy wire work and spring-work- were three sigils of plastic, written on in pen.

 _TEST_ \- Read the bottom.

 _REC_ \- Read the middle.

 _HACK_ \- Read the top.

Sanford wanted to bite his nails.

He didn't know how to work this thing. What if one of these buttons did something stupid, and he got himself-

-You know what, WHAT, did he have to lose? If the Institute killed his friends, he'd be lost anyway.

Sanford bit his lip and hovered an armored finger tip over the top sigil of the controller. He glanced up at the folded, rancid remains of the device's maker.

...Well, now or never.

He swallowed, and then clicked the top rune.

 ** _BZ-Bm_** -A chime sounded from behind him and made him jump out of his own skin.

Growling- he turned back to the radio device, and saw a small red light had bloomed on the top. He leaned over and looked around the base of the antenna, and, right there, were two tiny outlet switches, and by the right switch, was a tiny warning bulb, glowing red.

Sanford flicked the one switch. **_clk_** -And then he took up the controller again, eyes still on the light, which now flicked to green.

He swallowed again.

"I regret nothing." He shook his head, and shut hit eyes.

He pressed the button.

Then he felt lightheaded.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

"-Superintendent I TOLD you! My synthetics DID NOT, destroy your gunship!"

"Well then WHO did, Director?" Laslar barked- jamming the barrel of his rifle closer to Ordy's head.

"What reason would I have to DOOM my Secession?!" Ordy shouted, quivering. "-I have no reason to bring down the might of the Enclave army upon us! NO, reason!"

"Then who destroyed it?"

"It was probably the WASTELANDER!"

"...What makes you figure?" Laslar lowered his gun a little bit. "What makes you so sure it was this Wastelander we've had in sights? The same one?"

"...I-It had to have been," Ordy stuttered, turning back towards the cells. "-My synths CAN'T disobey orders, Seduun, and- mind you, we're monitoring each other's communications! Did you pick up a kill order before your gunship was destroyed? Are you sure you're not just being jammed?"

"...The Wastelander doesn't have the firepower to take out a Vertibird, Director-"

" _-Oh CONTRARE'! -Oh wait- FUCK! I sounded like the escargo-suckin' lizard! NO! NO-NO! I'M DEMOCRACY INCARNATE! I can't go French! THEY HAVE MIMES! Spawns of Trotsky!_ "

"-YOU," Laslar snarled, stomping around the Director, and standing before the glass of the last cell. "-What is your buddy using that took down an airplane? Answer me."

" _Like I'd tell YOUR candy-ass!_ " Hancock ranted from down on the floor, his ocu-lense bobbing. " _-Tell it to the sprocket-pump, and then SUCK IT!_ "

"Unlock this cell so I can dismantle it." Laslar snarled. "NOW."

"-B-But Superintendent, we need-"

"-You've caused me enough problems today!" Laslar brandished his gun again. "Do as I'm FUCKING telling you to do!"

" _-Awww HELL yes! Hey! Texan-guy who plays with his nipples- if you shoot him I'll give you twenty bucks!_ "

"SILENCE!" Laslar shouldered the glass- **_csshKK!_** -and left a spider-crack right in the cell barrier's center, it shook the whole chamber. "Open the cell NOW!"

" _STOP YELLING, YOU LOUDMOUTHED, COMPUTER-TOTING, MUSTACHE-LICKIN' SACK'A'SHIT!_ _Man! You people are DISGUSTING! I can't wait for Sanford to break my G.I. can' outta' here so we can unleash the SHIT on you assclowns!_ "

" -What did you say?" Ordy suddenly gasped, looking at the cell past Laslar. "-W-Who?"

Laslar quirked a brow, and glanced between the two of them.

"ENOUGH." He snapped. "OPEN. THE. CELL."

"...-J-Just wait, please, Laslar- model, what did you say before-?"

" _-_ _ **Director, this is XM-887,**_ " -A voice suddenly blared across the chamber, and echoed for several more chambers beyond. Ordy glanced up, and looked at Laslar, who was keen on lowering his gun for a moment.

"...Go ahead, Courser 887," Ordy stuttered to the intercom.

" ** _We have an un-initiated transition spike at the lift shaft._** "

"...Oh no..." Ordy muttered.

"What happened?" Laslar growled.

"...H-He's inside." Ordy said meakly. "...H-He found a way... INSIDE."

"Who?" Laslar blinked.

"...It must be this man, the Wastelander."

" ** _I'm picking up an exokeletal suit over the target, Director. He is armed and dangerous. Should my team liquidate him?_** "

"G-Give us time." Ordy choked. "-Yes, attack, use the teleporter beacons."

" ** _Yes, Director._** "

"Maybe this fuckin' mess will prove lucrative after all... " Laslar glared at the ceiling of the chamber. "-Luft, meet me in the lift chamber, our Wastelander breached the facility."

" _Affirmative, sir._ "

"Director," Laslar looked back down. "Have your synthetics provide me support fire. Might put me in a better mood."

"...I'll do that."

"We'll ambush him in the second story halls."

"-O-Outside the lift shaft? But, what if he-?"

"He'll be dead, before you have to worry about your 'Priceless' fat head, old man." Laslar glared. "Move."

...Both men were hard pressed on their nerves.

So hard pressed were they, that they completely forgot, about the robotic, anti-Communist menace caged up a few feet across the chamber, who had gone silent to listen to their whole conversation.

Having become agitated with himself at suppressing his need for harassment to the foe- Hancock started working within his systems to try and bring his communications back online, after the Institute scientists had fried them.

A few sparks jittering out from his chassis later, and the psychotic machine gave off a- 'Victory!' -from the floor, and started tapping into any com' links he could establish. He sifted past the Institute and Enclave signals... and found the one he sought.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Sanford had done a lot of crazy stuff, anyone by now, knew that of course. Only so many times throughout his life in Boston, had he been incapacitated, stunned, or stilled by an overwhelming aura or sensation- whatever it may have been.

These sensations varied- one had been a strange kind of 'Shell Shock' after a Mirelurk pack leader had deafened him with this sonic scream from its chitinous, fanged maw- Sanford had almost died in that encounter- being deaf, and made dizzy while a small mob of mutants bit and clawed at him.

One time, a grenade had gone off on the other side of a car he had been rummaging through- and the blast had stunned him to such a degree, that Hancock had to fight off a group of three other hostile scavengers for ten minutes before Sanford recovered and helped him.

ONE time, a flash bang had blinded AND deafened him, and Hancock had been pinned by a pack of hounds, and it was Sanford's job to save him with all of these crippling auras afflicting him.

Long story short, Sanford had only experienced a few instances where his very senses had been stolen, and each time he had emerged stronger, just like everything else out here- so, even though the effect today, was minimal, it still frightened him to a good degree when he remembered briefly what such peril sometimes entailed.

Sanford Tobs emerged from a washing sensation of imbalance and dizziness with a wet gasp as he coughed inside his helmet- and nearly stumbled forwards so much that he almost fell on his face.

Catching his breath, and his feet- the man slowly fell to one knee and closed his eyes tightly- bowing his chin to his chest, and trying to center himself.

He felt... HORRIBLE. Like he had been on an amusement park ride without safety regulations on the speed- it was like... Whiplash, and, that terrible feeling he used to get as a child whenever he would look down at his lap for a bit while his father was driving.

Oh lord, this was... BLUGH...

"...Holy... Holy Christ..." Sanford panted, dropping his rifle from where it had been hanging by his hip- it clattered on the floor. "...OhmyGod... W-Wow..."

He inhaled and exhaled heavily with quiet hisses emanating from the back of his throat as he hung his mouth open, and felt a vibrating sensation by his uvula as the nausea settled.

...He quivered, and struggled to get up on his feet.

...That had been terrible. What a horrible, horrible feeling, it was like-

"-HUH?!" He gasped, on his heels now- he whipped his head around at his surroundings.

What had happened?

Wasn't he in some frikkin' storage closet five seconds ago?

How did he-?

...The teleporter device... Must have... WORKED.

Holy crap, he had done it.

Sanford gazed at the glass bubble of the elevator's pod, at the mechanical exterior of the pod's chute, at the lights shining down from the top rounded rim.

This must have been the Institute's facility, or, at least, a PART of it.

Where had that teleportation jump sent him?

He bent down and picked up his gun, checked his armor's systems, and gazed around. This was a lift of some kind, and it only went down from where it was.

Sanford reasoned, that, maybe, the facility was at the bottom of the his shaft, and that, maybe this 'Gengis' guy had coded the hacked teleportation destination, to be exactly where the Institute teleported its own people.

After all, he couldn't imagine the Institute having such experimental technology leading directly into its facility below.

Sanford looped around and again, and he looked about for some kind of a sigil, or a button, or a switch, SOMETHING...

But after walking around, and, failing in trying to peer over the ridge of the elevator's podium floor- he found nothing.

"...Damn it." He also couldn't see the Institute bastards activating their own lift to deliver their demise to themselves.

 ** _blp blp blp_**

 ** _blp_**

 ** _blp_**

 ** _blp_**

-Something was pinging in his helmet.

He blink-activated the rune that was flashing on the lower corner- and what he saw was an open communication channel.

It had Hancock's signal.

Oh crap.

"-H-Han'?! Han', you there?!" Sanford cried frantically, tuning into it. "-Hancock! Answer me, man! Is that you?!"

" _...S-SAN- ...Lis...to me, you-!...Te-_ " The message was too choppy.

Sanford adjusted the suit's connection with a few rapid blinks.

"-Hancock I can't understand you, hold on!... Okay-! No-no just-! OKAY! There! Go ahead, man, are you alright?!"

"- _SANFORD! Holy Presidential Citation's run amok am I happy to hear your annoying, monkey-ish' voice!_ "

"Oh me too, buddy," Sanford laughed in relief, keeling over a bit. "-I'm so happy to hear you! And fuck yourself too, by the way! Oh, Han' I'm so happy."

" _-Listenyeahthat'sgreat-! BUDDY, pal'! Compatriot of Democracy,_ "

"Yeah?"

" _That sick Nazi who likes pocketing feminine products from Texas has a whole squad of Enclave fuckers ready to ambush you in the hall on the second story of the lift platform! He's getting support from these mechanical wannabe's from the egg-head department!_ "

"You mean synths, Han'?"

" _SEMANTICS! Don't test me, you ape! I've been locked in a fuckin' cell all day and I, AM NOT HAPPY! LEMME' OUT! IIIIIII'LLLLL RIP OUT YOUR SPLEENS! HA-HA! BRING IT ON, YOU JERRY-HEADED FUCK-_ "

-Sanford rolled his eyes and silenced the link for a second.

"Here I come, my friend." He grumbled.

 ** _CHSK-Cm_**

-The lift jolted, Sanford tensed as it started moving down, slowly.

He watched the shaft outside start to slowly phase up.

The lift whined a bit in its near silent descent.

And then he waited.

And waited.

And waited more as the lift kept going down.

...Good lord, all he needed was some elevator music to complete THIS shitshow.

...Did the good guys always get stuck in elevators in the comic books? Sanford forgot.

He huffed.

...Hey, did that scuff on his arm plating always look like the shape of a dog?

Huh.

..."...God damn it, what I'd give, for this FUCKING thing, to move fast-"

 ** _..._**

"-SHIT!"

- ** _WHMM!_**

-A holo-blade ran through the air, right past his flank as he stumbled to the other side of the lift plat.

Sanford raised his rifle, and standing there was a synthetic, garbed in a complete suit of grayish armor plating over its lithe form- its head was revealed, and to Sanford's shock, it was coated in pale, SKIN. The synth looked human from the neck up.

Its right arm was folded away for a flat, rectangular holo-blade- it had a pistol in the other hand.

 ** _CHSKzzzzzzzz_** -In the blink of an eye, there were now five other lesser synths standing around it.

Sanford's whole face twitched- he opened his mouth, and SCREAMED at them.

"-RRAAAGGGHHH-!"

-Crackling of two blades, gunfire, tearing of metal, all erupted from the cell as the whole podium pod shook and jolted.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Peaking from inside the frame of the gateway leading into the interior of the facilities from the second-story lift platform he and his team had taken earlier- Laslar Seduun, Luft, and six of their ten man team waited just behind the frame.

Laslar's plan was to wait for the Wastelander to enter through the frame, and all seven of them would jump him while the last three men came out of hiding further down the hall for covering fire.

As long as this guy hadn't figured out how to rewire the old pre-War military scanners he and his men had equipped in their rigs, they were golden. Besides, something like that was beyond someone in the wastes, only the Brotherhood had competition like that.

Finally, Laslar could kill this guy. This- 'Sanford' -Laslar was going to tear out his intestines.

He checked the frame of his Tri-Archer. He suddenly remembered the instance at the Quarry, where he had shot the very combatant he was to face.

That took guts, this man was tough. Enemy or not.

"Luft, you ready?" Laslar held his Ripper in the other gauntlet, glanced across the hall floor at the other side of the frame.

Luft nodded, and huddled down with the four other men behind him.

Laslar nodded over his shoulder to his group, and they waited. Outside, they heard the whirring mechanics of the lift gradually lowering the pod- Ordy had left the gate open here, and as long as Laslar and his boys stayed low, the Wastelander wouldn't see them.

Besides, his only other option was to wait in the pod, which, if he did that, Laslar would pepper it and kill him stationary- OR, he could jump to the lower plaza at the base of the facility, which, also, seemed unlikely. The guy was good, not crazy, right?

All according to plan.

"- _Here he comes, he's twenty seconds from basing._ " -Ordy said through the communications link in Laslar's helmet.

"Let him come."

" _I've lost contact with the Courser!_ "

"Dumbass." Laslar cut the link. What did that fool expect? Beaming your guys right on top of the obviously skilled warrior. The Institute's military truly was an advanced joke.

The lift whined a bit more. Laslar heard gunfire. He checked his scanners inside the helm, saw the robotic signatures in the pod flare and vanish, leaving only the one human sig'. He hovered his finger over the trigger on his Ripper.

 ** _CHK-cmm_**

-The lift stopped outside the frame.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

"-RAAGH!"

 ** _SSHKK! Czczczczz..._**

-Static, flashing bands of electricity, Sanford tore his arm away from XM-887, and let the body slump onto the floor of the shaft, in a pile, with the other synthetic corpses.

Clenching his blade in one gauntlet, and the cranium of the Courser's severed head in the other- Sanford saw a thin pane of glass fold away at the front, of the now stationary lift.

He glanced around through the transparent pod, his mouth agape as he panted from the fight- he spun around once to look at the gigantic chamber of the Institute's true facility.

It was unlike anything he had ever seen, or... Maybe, at least from when the bombs had dropped and he had emerged from the Vault.

It wasn't ruined, it wasn't trashed, and dirtied, and filled with garbage or destroyed...

It was a massive, underground sprawl, of chrome, blues, and...

...My God... Those were... Trees...

Sanford tossed the head he was holding onto the floor, where the unblinking eyes of the Courser were lost as they rolled off to the side of the pod and settled with the rest of his noggin.

The young man bent down and picked up his gun, and he stood on the flank of the pod, looking through the double layers of glass at the bottom floor, and plaza, below.

Four clusters of green, healthy, leaf-filled trees and bushes and ferns and plants and... He hadn't seen such beauty in a decade.

Sanford forgot about everything for a second, and he looked at these plants down there. They were amazing.

Balancing his weapons in his grip. Sanford shook his head in awe.

...And then he saw his life signature scans erupt.

He blinked away the dream-like aura- and he glanced at the scans for his suit.

Ten life signatures, in the gateway ahead, down that walkway.

Sanford looked out of the pod's ajar frame, and down the curved metal of the floor that extended outwards for an open gate, that lead into an expansive passageway of lined bulkheads.

...They were there.

That was the ambush.

Sanford clenched his fists.

He glanced back at the trees, down at the dead synths, and then he sprinted out of the glass frame of the pod- his boots thudding once against the metal floor- he gazed up at the towering ceiling, all the windows, the tubes connecting habitation walls...

...For all the disbelief he held, he was still in a combat zone, he had to assume everything down here wanted him dead.

He glanced at the frame, and then he looked down at the circular plaza below- centered with a ground-based mounting for the glass tube of the elevator pod he had ridden down.

He swallowed at the height difference, at least a story.

...He would survive the fall if he landed on his heels, but... That was some drop.

Sanford breathed in, and then out, and he shut his eyes briefly.

 ** _CLK!_** -The stomping of an armored boot.

-He swung his head to the side. Standing there in the gateway frame down the walk on his level, was the armored form of the very same Enclave soldier, Laslar Seduun, the Texan Terror, the man who had shot him, hunted Nyx, and had apparently wrought terror across the west and midwestern old United States.

Sanford contemplated shooting at him.

But he was exposed, and... the refractor fields...

Sanford did the first thing that came to mind. He stepped off the edge of the walkway and fell boot-first.

"-WASTELANDER!" Laslar screamed at the top of his lungs- thundering down the walkway- soon standing at the very precipice from which his quarry had leapt.

Down below, there was an echoing crunch of steel- a cloud of dust, and flickers of thrown shrapnal.

Down below, there was now a man crouched in the center of the plaza, knelt, in an indented tear in the steel floor.

Down below, Sanford Tobs quivered inside his X-01 suit, and darted his eyes about the ruined floor around him.

No pain, no discomfort, no alarms in his helm.

...He was... Alive.

"-WOO!" He shot up on his heels, tearing some stray flaps of metal away with his boots- and he held his gun and sword up witha triumphant cry. "-Ha! I DID that! YES!"

Sanford laughed, rolled his shoulders, kicked his ankles, and then turned around and looked back up at where he had jumped from.

Laslar's height was contrasted from all the lights as an overhanging, dark shadow up there- the Superintendent blinked away his shock and cowing, and then raised his Tri-Archer for the target below.

"...OH," Sanford's eyes lit up, his face went pale. "Fuck."

"-Stand still, Wastelander!" Laslar cried out.

 ** _CLK CLK CLK CLK!_**

-Plasma flung down the whole story-distance in seconds- whipping bolts of neon green eating into the metal around Sanford's stance.

The man flailed his arms and legs, and sprinted wildly across the plaza as plasma followed and glanced by the whole way- leaving a trail of blackened skidmarks and holes behind him.

"Kill him! KILL HIM!" Laslar screamed at his squad whilst they emerged from the gateway, and joined the firing at the sprinting little man below.

There was a door down here- a whole bunch.

Sanford aimed for one of these doors, and he saw that it was closed- so he raised his arm, brandished his suit's shoulder- and he prepared to ram through it.

-Then the motion sensors picked him up.

The silvery bulkhead slid away.

"-OOHHH SHIITTT!"

-Sanford hurled himself through the frame without the expected resistence.

 ** _CLK-CMN!_** -He fell on his face, arms splayed, sword and gun skittering away into the hallway beyond.

And as the neatly polished chrome floor would have it, Sanford slid.

 ** _CCCHHHHHHSSSSSSKKKKKK!-CLM!_** -And then he bumped into the edge of a wall.

Laid out on the floor, the Power Armored man blinked a few times to regain himself, his arms still splayed out, legs lain flat.

The suit creaked against the floor as he scootched over to glance down a few feet of hallway to the ajar bulkhead, and the plaza outside. Nothing. The bulkhead slipped shut, cutting off his view to the swaying trees outside.

Sanford scrambled over himself- he stood up, grabbed his gun, hurried over to a corner and grabbed his sword.

"...That was close." He turned around. "...Uhm..."

In one of the bulkheads on the side of this passageway, were two men wearing white lab coats, with blue dress shirts, and red ties. They blinked in shock at the X-01 garbed outsider- one of them dropped a tablet he was holding, and it clattered on the floor past his dress shoes.

Sanford glanced at the thing, and then at both of them.

"...How are ya'?" He smirked after a second.

"-AAAH! AH! AHHHH!"

"-AAAAHHHHH!" The two men screamed like women, and ran away, flailing their arms, down the hall ahead.

Sanford watched the two of them from down the way for a second, snorted, and rolled his shoulders.

"I guess Hancock was right, I AM an ugly ape. Huh."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	59. Chapter 58

**CHAPTER 58**

 **Through the smoke and dust, there was only one.**

* * *

The Institute was a pretty big facility, now that Sanford had been exposed to as much as he had. Following the incident with the Enclave soldiers- Sanford had taken to scouring the halls and passages of the lower level- he kept in communication with Hancock as he cleared rooms.

He had to shoot a lot of stuff- he wrecked rooms that were filled with computers, power fluctuator tanks and pipe coils as he engaged in firefights with synthetic defenders. The scientists, the people in the white lab coats- they started to clear out whenever the shooting got close enough to them.

Sanford would tear through the synths, kick corpses away, watch them fall after being obliterated by his gun's might- he'd call out and try to grab some of the actual humans that got close enough.

"Come back here-! HEY! Get over here-!" Sanford kept getting jumped by more androids before he could apprehend any of them.

He traversed chrome-colored barracks blocks filled with rectangular cots and kitchen areas- he had to shoot synthetic soldiers in almost every room.

 ** _PMPMPM- CAKKK! cshsks..._** -A synth flew back with a blown-open chest cavity before slamming completely through a cot, and tumbling in a heap on the floor, frame, sheets and cadaver together.

Sanford was a machine as he kept switching side coils for his gun's battery- he shot, punched, kicked, slashed with his blade and tossed tens of synthetic warriors away like they were nothing before him- which, they kind of weren't.

"-Han'!" Sanford grunted, using his knee to slouch off the twitching form of a synth from his cutlass. "-Hancock, tell me where you are! I'll come get you-!"

A synth leapt over one of the stove counters from the kitchen block nearby- Sanford used his forearm to bat the monstrosity away, clean out of the air- he shot it when it landed on the ground, scrabbling to stand again.

"-HANCOCK!" Sanford cried.

"- _Sending you coordinates, sir! AND MAKE IT SNAPPY, would'ya'?_ "

Sanford saw a blinking sigil appear on his retinal display- and he rolled his eyes after he saw that it was on a level higher than his.

"These fuckin' people just can't make this easy..." **_PMPMPMPM_** -He shot one-handed to his flank, eviscerated a synth that rounded a bulkhead frame and cast the flaming body back from whence it came.

Sanford took a second to survey around the barrack block- one of the few, but expansive living quarters he had come across in his scouring throughout the first floor of the facility. His scans were going bonkers, showing synthetic kill teams converging throughout the passes and chambers towards where he was.

The Institute's underground warren was big, but it wasn't THAT big, in fact- Sanford' suit was able to process all but the farthest fringe corners of the outer chambers of the sprawling subterranian network. Sanford could track where everyone, and everything, was going.

That also meant that the Enclave and the Institute knew where he was in turn, at all times- and that was daunting.

Sanford realized that he was still picking up a living signature in the very chamber he was standing in- and, after rounding a few smashed cots and piles of ruined androids and metallic furniture- he peered behind a chrome dresser, and curled in a ball back there was a man in a white labcoat, shaven head, with glasses, a big troll-ish' nose on his face.

Sanford narrowed his eyes when the man stopped quivering, looked up in realization- and immediately raised his shaking hands over his head from down on the floor.

"...I-I'm unarmed." He stated lowly.

"Get up." Sanford said harshly.

The Institute resident slowly clambered to his fancy-little shoes in a hunched stand- he stepped out from behind the dresser and kept his hands up, his tie and shirt ruffled from the attempt at hiding himself.

"How many of you are there?"

"...A-Are you going to kill my colleagues?"

"I don't know yet. How many?"

"...Forty six residential staff..."

"How many synths?"

"Five Gen-3's, I-I don't know the workforce numbers."

"What's a 'Gen-3'?" Sanford squinted, keeping his weapons by his hips, appearing intimidating enough, he figured.

The scientist blinked and swallowed- appalled at being intimidated by a 'Outsider' as he and his fellows usually coined anyone above ground in Boston.

"T-They're our most advanced model, w-we can replicate human-"

"They're the ones you use to murder people and replace them." Sanford shook his head. "You piece of shit."

"-T-THAT, is not my department," The man wheezed, trembled. "-I-I'm with the Biochemical Team!"

"GREAT, really great fuckin' way to get on my good side, pal'," Sanford sneered. "- _Oh yeah, I don't make civilian-murdering infiltrators, I make biochemical weapons to kill EVERYONE..._ " -He mimicked.

"-That-that's the FEV and GARGANT departments! D-Don't shoot me-!"

"Keep talking and I WON'T," Sanford ground his teeth. "Where are all of your buddies gathering?"

"-P-Probably the main lecture and calculace hall-"

"Where are you people keeping my friends?"

"F-Friends? What kind of-?!"

"Seven foot tall fuckin' lizard, and a loudmouthed robot, KIND OF hard to miss," Sanford aimed his gun at the man's chest- the scientist looked like he was about to keel over, he was turning beat red, and he was sweating profusely to dampen his coat and shirt. "Where. Are. They?"

"-S-Specimen's in the calculace hall!" The man exclaimed quickly. "-The model is in the prison chamber for test subjects two passages down! P-Past Internment!"

"Now be a good asshole and sit down and shut up."

The man spun around, his arms flailing- he shoved himself in a fetal position behind the cabinet's mass again, and Sanford looked away with a sneer of disgust. Unarmed or not, he wanted to kill this guy, and every other person in here.

But senseless razing of the place wasn't going to solve anything, in his opinion- he still didn't know the full story of everything going on down here.

Sanford checked his signal scans again- he saw the eleven armored life signatures- Laslar Seduun's squad and the Texan Terror himself- were moving down what looked like a staircase to the first floor of the facility, towards him.

Sanford figured he would hold his own against Laslar's soldiers... But it was the Superintendent himself that worried him. Laslar was vicious, and with supporting fire from his guys, the odds were against Sanford in a head-on engagement.

He checked around the room briefly- glanced around at some of the synth corpses- he came up with something that looked good for use- a few handheld Pulse-type explosives, grenades, old pre-War variant replicas.

Sanford tugged them free of magnetic attachments to one of the synthetic's belts on its thin, wiry hips- he attached four in total on his own flank to the X-01's waist, and then hurried from the barrack block, through a doorframe-

 ** _PMPMPMP-_** He shot a synthetic in the hallway beyond, a cluster of shots, dead center the sternum- the warrior crumpled with sparks and soot trailing from the wounds.

Sanford heard footsteps coming from his flank- and when he wheeled around with his gun and sword ready- he saw an Institute scientist, one of the residents here- it was a middle aged man, brown hair, wrinkled face and a thin nose- he was sneering, and toting a synthetic rifle- he raised it from the hip.

Sanford faltered for a millisecond at shooting a PERSON, not one of the synths- but he knew that it wasn't worth the risk of sparing people down here- after all, these were the minds that had caused so much paranoia, so much evil, in Boston above his head.

He peppered the scientist once- a brief compress of the trigger- and the shots ate into his chest and neck, sending the man in a spin to the floor, the rifle he was holding flickering a few bursts that burned and sparked away on the chrome ceiling.

Sanford didn't even regard the body, and he started stomping down the way to meet Laslar's team- and, shock of shocks, they had already reached the first floor and were closing.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

"- _Superintendent! You have to stop him! He's damaged some systems in the barracks blocks- a-a-and I'm losing synthetics at an alarming rate! I can't stop him!_ "

"Shut your fucking mouth and let us do our jobs." Laslar growled- hopping off the last step of a spiral flight that looped through a chrome turn in a descent from the second to first level of the facility. "-After he's dead, we're taking the Deathclaw, and if you even STUTTER on that, I'll finish this scab's job post-mortem, and SHOOT every single one of you."

Laslar cut the link before the Director could respond again.

"I'm tracking him," Luft growled as the squad entered a larger passway- it was wide enough for at least an automobile to fit through, and it wasn't lined with bulkheads- it was a straight shot of chrome, ribbed walls with pylons layering the flanks of the passage on both sides. "He's coming right at us."

"About time." Laslar sighed- his shoulders turned left and right as the Enclave soldiers passed through a shuffling group of science team members- ten men and women scrambling past them to convene at the main computer hall where the Deathclaw was, where the Director was too.

 _Cowards._ Laslar was tempted to shoot at them and blame it on collateral.

"Defense positions, Luft, Rizo, Chesser, Lihan, Gril- the rest of you, advance with me, behind me." Laslar pointed to cover behind the pylons on either end of the hallway- and then he surged forwards down the chrome floor, with five other soldiers at his tail, Plasma rifles raised.

Laslar- despite the lack of trepidation to the fighting to come -felt his heart beating exponentially faster at the excitement of finally killing this insignificant little subhuman that had been hiding his experiment from him for the last few weeks.

Gleefully, Laslar glancing at his own helmet's internal scans- he saw one signal, marked with an exo' tag, that was right around the corner of some unseen entryway ahead- it was behind some of the pylons lining the flanks of the passage.

Laslar pointed ahead and to his flank- two of his men broke off and started moving ahead- three stayed behind him. The Superintendent compressed his shoulder to the side of one of the rectangular pylons- he glanced over its base and saw a thin pill-shaped bulkhead in the walling there.

His two men started to cross the open space ahead of the frame, to get cover at the pylon on the other side of the door's mouth- Laslar didn't like the exposure they risked, and he checked his scans again.

 ** _clm clm-clclm-_** Thundering footfalls of a suit type he knew all too well, that halted abruptly inside the hallway beyond this door. Laslar creaped the barrels of his Tri-Archer around the pylon's frame.

 ** _PMPMPMPMPMPMPMPM_** -Suddenly, a concentrated, flickering cone of crimson energy lashed out from inside the frame and it cut and clipped into his two men that were covering the other side, right before they got out of the attacker's possible firing arc.

The laser beams scythed right through their armor- their bodies jerked, and twisted, they dropped their guns- and strips of blackened, tortured metal flecked and sparked roughly in contrails off their forms whilst the munitions rended them.

The two soldiers clambered and rumbled onto the deck- **_CLK-clkclk CLK-CLKmmBmm..._** -both face-down, dead as doornails.

Laslar went bug eyed.

"Heh." He hopped his shoulders.

This guy knew what he was doing. AND he had a nice toy.

 ** _clk-_**

 ** _clkclkclk..._** -A rounded shape sailed through the doorframe, tossed like a baseball- and bounced off the rim of the wall right outside it, skittered across the floor, and settled right on the other side of the pylon Laslar was peering around.

He glanced at the Pulse grenade once and jumped back for cover from the splash.

This guy, REALLY knew, what he was doing.

 ** _PMMMMMzzzzzzZZZZ!_** -A bubbling of walloping static electricity flashed and illuminated the whole section of the passage white for a moment.

Laslar compressed his back to the pylon and turned his head away, feeling a virbration throughout his body from the force of the blast- his armor compensated to save his ears from the noise.

"I'll cover! Get on the other side!" Laslar barked at his men. He rounded the corner of the pylon and aimed with his Tri-Archer.

-A towering titan of metal, Sanford Tobs, was standing right outside the doorway- and he was aiming right at the Superintendent.

 ** _PMPMPMPMPM-_** Laslar ducked back- the corner of the pylon screeched, and plates of wrecked steel flecked and tore from it as the laser shots pierced through and clattered around. One of the beams caught the first of his three men in the head.

The man didn't even get a chance to make any noise- the shot hit him right in the side of his helmet, tore through, and the body rumbled the whole flooring as it fell and collided with the chrome tiles.

"-FALL BACK!" Laslar barked. "-LUFT! PIN THIS FUCK!"

Laslar and his two men started bolting away from the pylons of the doorframe- they retreated closer to the section where Luft and his five-man team peered from prepared positions on the sides of the passage.

Shoving into a huddle with his men behind another pylon- Laslar cursed loudly, watched across the way as Luft leaned slightly out of concealment with his scoped rifle raised.

Sanford peaked around the ruined pylon down by the doorframe- now flanked by three Enclave corpses- Luft saw the darkness of the man's helmet and fired once-

 ** _CLK-vmm_**

-the crimson beam missed by a hair's length, the Wastelander shot back behind the pylon, out of sight.

"Damn it." Luft snapped, unmoving.

"Keep him pinned," Laslar muttered into the communications link. "I'll advance."

"Roge'."

 ** _CLK-vmm_**

-Luft missed again, by a hair's length, AGAIN.

Laslar could hear his sniper growling all the way across the pass' width- he slipped around the base of his pillar cover, and got behind the one ahead of it- his eyes locked to the position of the Wastelander just a few feet away.

 ** _PMPMPMPPM_**

A cluster of fluorescent crimson shot down the hall- Laslar followed the fire and saw Luft, and another of their guys get hit.

"-AGH! FUCK!" Luft screamed- steam flecking from an impact by his hip- the soldier behind him, peering over his shoulder, fell on his flank in the center of the hallway, a burnt gash belching soot from the center of his cuirass, at the clavicle.

 ** _BMM-clmclm-_** The armor rattled and thundered on the ground, Luft scrambled onto his hip, and scootched across the flooring behind the pylon, a gauntlet over his waist plate.

 ** _PMPM-_** Another two shots flew out instantly, clipped into the fallen soldier in the center of the hallway as to end his convulsing- the body twitched and lay still.

"God-FUCKING damn it!" Laslar aimed and peppered Sanford's pylon- green bolts eating away at the steel all over the place. "-Luft?! Injury?"

"- _Glancing shot, armor took it._ " -Came in a gasp over the com link.

"-Pin him! I'm moving!"

-Six men aimed around corners and sprayed the Wastelander's pylon with plasma.

Laslar lowered his Tri-Archer in one gauntlet, grabbed up his Ripper, and sprinted around the corner of his pillar.

 ** _clk clk clk clk clk-_** His boots hammered the decking of the passage- Laslar was baring his teeth- he saw his enemy emerge- shoulder, arms and head- up ahead, and he screamed at the top of his lungs as Laser shots bounced off his refractor field.

 ** _CshsksmMmshsk-_** All the bolts flickered away in flecks of green and crimson- Laslar reached the corner of the pillar, and he swung around it- bearing his Ripper.

"-STAND-STILL-!" He hollered- **_CHSK! CHSSSSSSMMMMM!_** -The blade sailed right over a ducking helmet, ate into the pylon with a sea of discarded sparks.

Tearing the Ripper away, Laslar's shoulders heaved with his ragged breathing- the two Power Armored men stood before each other.

Sanford Tobs had his rifle in one hand, his energized cutlass in the other- lowered by his hips, as he stared down the Superintendent of the Enclave, Laslar Seduun, the Texan Terror.

Laslar hunched, and so did Sanford. Neither moved.

...They both shifted, their rifles quivered as they questioned who would initiate the fight first.

"-Laslar, I take it?" Sanford spoke out.

"Sanford Tobs," The Superintendent spat. "-You've been fucking up my op' for weeks."

"I've noticed."

"-Lemme' ask you something, Wastelander,"

"Yep."

"-Do you even know, what the Enclave is?"

"I do."

"You're the bravest man I've ever met in my life."

"Or the stupidest, your pick."

"Where'd you find it?"

"What?"

"The 'Claw."

"She fell out of the sky, of course."

"FUCK, you." Laslar grit his teeth. "You fucking welp."

"Cute."

"The 'Claw's mine."

"You've apparently been saying that for years, Las', you've yet to catch her."

The Ripper revved and snarled in Laslar's clasp- he compressed his fists around the handles of both his weapons so much that they started to shake.

All of this had culminated for some smart ass little man, that hadn't even obviously been the source of the true problem the whole time.

Sanford had prevented him from accomplishing one, simple, meazely task, that would've allowed him to establish even greater authority for himself within the Enclave- had prevented him from leaving Boston as quick as he had arrived- AND, he had shot down one of his craft and killed a bunch of his God damned men.

Laslar's sickened mind began to convulse, and writhe, and fixate on the sheer balling hatred, and anger, and infuriation gathering in his system- it procured images of failure, of his inability to perform what he did best, his inability to sate his vindictiveness through revenge and punishment.

Laslar Seduun's eyes were big and bulging out of his skull- there was a bead of saliva by his lower lip, his teeth were straining against each other, and his arms were quivering.

He was going to KILL him. Kill him. Kill him painfully, SLOWLY... Kill, kill, KILL.

"...Just, stand there, and- DIE!" Laslar barked- his arm arced downwards, the Ripper screamed through the air for Sanford's head.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

People flowed in as pairs, trios, quads- the entire staff from the FEV lab came in all at once as a mob of fifteen- Director Ordy did his best to keep his people calm, all fifty of them that were left- apparently one of the FEV staff, Joshua, had been the only fatality so far.

For almost twenty years, Director Ordy had been trying to reform a thinking tank that had long been shattered and dashed to the floors of science and untimely failure- for half of that time he had been working under the delusion of a unified Institute.

This was why today was so... Heartbreaking, if nothing else.

Contrary to how quickly the situation down here had devolved, and now there were people dying in his facility once more- Ordy had dedicated twenty years to repairing this place, something that he saw hope in, that he saw an ability to rebuild the past.

The Institute had formed on the basis of bettering the survivors of the nuclear holocaust through the use of outstandingly superior and efficient technological ability- synthetic teams for construction, medical work, and planning- were simply the surface of the well-oiled machine the Institute had thought of.

Putting these plans into motion, into reality off of the tablets they were drawn out on- was where the Institute had failed utterly.

Ordy himself couldn't even come to terms with it when he had first been brought before the dilemma, and he was told- 'Fix it.'

The Institute had started with a team of scientists that had sealed themselves underneath the facility during the landing of the ICBMs that devastated the East Coast of the United States- and even though the initial staffs hadn't lived to see the Institute's glory days, their children and trusted heirs did.

For awhile there was some procreation in the little society the men and women of the old campus had made for themselves- some of the brightest and smartest in the Wasteland could pass tests and trials to become members themselves, to be part of something designed to help humanity regain its balance.

For years after Massachusetts had been bathed in radiation and fire- the Institute worked openly from beneath the CIT ruins in old MIT- they procured supplies for people, tried introducing ways of constructing basic shelters, ways to gather water, the Institute was beginning to network with people, with other communities, it looked... Bright.

-Then the compulsive need for control started to set in, this was where Ordy entered.

See Ordy hadn't actually been a member of the Institute until almost fifty or sixty years after its founding- there had been three Directors before him, and the last two had died of violent circumstances, WITHIN, the Institute, not from without, despite the deserving of such.

The Institute's growing numbers of Courser commanders for the synthetic legions, the amount of scientists working on varying projects that branched and diverged greatly from each other eventually started to form rivalries, differences in opinions for how the New CIT should've been doing things.

Individual science teams became hungry for several things, and these wants and desires started to influence how the synths under their commands conducted themselves in the surface world. Some teams wanted power, to build something for their names not for humankind.

Some teams thought man should be aided and recontructed differently than the others did- some were simply insane, and others were just cruel.

It didn't matter by the end of the fifty or sixty years the Institute had operated in.

Synthetics started murdering surface dwellers when they refused to part with essential pieces of equipment or technology, that the Institute was in competition to collect before the Brotherhood, or the Old Outcasts could.

Synthetics also began to replace people. That was an underhanded tactic developed by several sects within the Institute simultaneously.

What better way to keep your reputation with the commoners AND get what you wanted without a full-scale war, then to kill one or two women and children and use their places for your undetectable spies and saboteurs?

People in the Commonwealth started getting sick of the Institute's behavior as their facility got bigger, and they divided further. The different wings of the organization made the wastelands suffer as they took on their own operations, fights, wars, excavations and searches to outdo each other.

At the same time as Insitute synths started fighting amongst themselves at the behest of different science teams- people in Boston rallied against foreign incursion from not just the Institute, but the Brotherhood of Steel, the Outcasts, and the Enclave among others.

This was why the militia was formed- the Commonwealth Minutemen, inspired by tales of outlandish battles where rows and formations of men marched to their deaths in the open before each other, supported by cannons and mortars on either end.

The Institute fractured at the seams. Casualties were horrendous as science teams butchered each other with their synthetic servants- the great CIT facility beneath the campus had to be cleaned up and rebuilt nearly six times as civil wars continuously tore the Institute asunder.

Minutemen formations started decimating synthetic teams whenever they even stepped foot on the surface, the Mideastern Brotherhood took advantage of the weakness, and to Ordy's knowledge, some of the Brotherhood units that attacked synth teams here were the same that would later splinter and go to D.C.

When the militia consolidated control over Boston, the Institute had retracted- like some kraken beneath the shadowy waves, wounded, bleeding and convulsing in silent suffering -fleeing beneath the earth to fester with each other.

The facility was literally divided by room as clusters of people who had actively tried to kill each other were forced into the same foxhole for their very survival- technology relapsed within the Institute, the FEV and GARGANT teams were dead, and their experiments escaped into Boston to form the Super Mutant groups currently roving about.

Ordy was but an outisider at this time, and he had only recently emerged into the world with his wife, Linda- they trekked across the wastes of the Commonwealth for years, and they came across the CIT campus, and they found a place that they felt they could fix.

See, no other person in the world had mattered more to Ordy than his Linda during this time- he had loved her like no other in his long, long life.

Together they hailed the ears of the Institute scientists that were hunkered beneath the campus- they pleaded with them to let them help them, that they had experience in teamwork, in technology, Ordy especially.

Immediately, Ordy and Linda went to work reestablishing the Institute as a power broker in the East- their minds both addled and fueled by the want of restarting the old cause to better humanity.

Ordy reformed the science teams, he got them to start working together- Linda oversaw the construction and rehabilitation of the synthetic factory installations, and together, after ten years exactly, the Institute reemerged into the quieter Commonwealth to start silently, and peacefully, acquiring pieces of the past.

Synthetic teams came back with successful hauls of pre-War weapons, electronics and tracking systems, homing systems, temperature modulation technologies and processing systems. This lasted maybe five years, four and half, give or take.

THEN, the science teams were on the fritz again.

Ordy was appalled to see old rivalries rearising as the abundance of material wealth and tech began to corrupt the same people's minds again, and again, and again.

Linda and he debated for months on what to do- and throughout this time the teams started competing, they started lying to each other, hiding things, and the position of Director was vacant, and needing.

Ordy eventually became fed up with the internal strife- he let his anger drive him, and he redirected synthetic manpower to maintaining loyalty within his own facility.

Several science teams that Ordy determined as- 'Self Destructive' -were liquidated by synthetic kill teams, and this, obviously, frightened his peers very much, so much so, that many of them started changing their work ethics.

Ordy purged maybe twenty people? Thirty people? Coupled with firefights that broke out between synths of varying loyalty, the death toll of this second miniature civil war were about sixty, sixty five.

Linda was furious.

The love of his life chastised him as a weakling to his own temper, to his own want of having things done his way- she told him that it was the same reason they had abandoned things so precious to them, that they had combed the wastes only to home in on the worst humanitarian disaster in Boston.

For years and years and years, Ordy and Linda had disagreed with each other, sure, but they loved each other too much to keep those fueds going for long, or with too much depth- they bickered, but they never actively became hateful towards each other.

The Institute saw Ordy change as the very man he had been- he became something else and he did not approve of it. Linda took a swathe of synths from his control, and against his loyalty to the Institute, he did not stop her on the grounds of knowing what that would entail for her.

Linda spent years digging these tunnels out into the Charles River, extending the Institute facility away from under the campus, to under the waters of the canal. When Linda finally announced her breaking away from the teams, like Ordy knew she would, he watched without comment as a number of his staff packed up and left with her.

This was the day the three tunnels leading to the Division, were sealed forever- two of them via bomb, one by electronic lock- and Ordy appointed himself Director of the Secession, while Linda became Director of the Division.

For four or five years things had been like this, and Ordy, with the position to reach the surface still- became stressed and hard pressed for more technology and resources. So, with no other option in his mind, he restarted the synthetic assassinations of citizens throughout the communities in the Commonwealth.

Ordy plunged into a pit of corruption as his old self was gradually dissolved in a river of hunger for regaining yet another, beautiful thing he had lost to war. He restarted the FEV program, and when that wasn't moving fast enough, he started the GARGANT program with research taken from the southeast by trade agreements with the fifes and states of the Texan Brotherhood.

Now, today, here he was.

Here he was in the facility that he had desperately been saving again and again, from itself, from the other scientists, from the militia, from his own God damned wife... Now it was under attack again.

All of this progress, all these failures... They culminated for a single man destroying everything.

Ordy believed with every fiber of his being, that if this Wastelander didn't do it, Laslar Seduun, would.

Two vicious killing machines fighting each other in his tiny facility.

This wasn't good.

"Settle down! Settle down, please!" Ordy called out to the crowd of lab-coated men and women as they bustled about, chattered manically, held their arms up in anger and fear, yelled at each other, yelled at the synths- the computing hall was chaos with fifty souls and around ten synthetics moving about.

Ordy had to face the facts as the crowd completely ignored him at the front of the facility, before the three tubes, two empty, one occupied by this Deathclaw he had acquired from Diamond.

He was running out of synths, in addition to all this mess.

The Wastelander had wiped out his best teams in the campus above- and what few synthetics he had left were all heading for the firefight between Laslar and this offender. Ordy lowered his arms gradually in his failed attempt to gather attention and cohesion.

This was madness.

Twenty years for this.

Twenty years spent trying to help humanity, only to make it worse off.

Director Ordy tried to call out for his people again, but the scientists actively disregarded their fallen Director's word at this incursion.

Ordy slumped back against the central pod, shut his eyes tightly, defeated.

"Director,"

He looked up. Valerie, one of his officer staff members, his most senior one, was there. She had been with him since the beginning of the Secession and Division, with Linda.

"-I'm liquidating the intruders." She stated factually.

Ordy gazed to the older woman with a blank look- he glanced to her flanks, and saw four Generation-2 synthetic soldiers tighten their grips on their rifles, for she had redirected their programming amid all this nonsense.

The Director blinked at her slowly, and held up a hand to her.

Nothing was in his control today.

"Do what you must." He said after a second. "I just hope you know, that we'll all be dead."

"So you think." She said. Briskly, the five of them vanished into the crowd- and Ordy kept his eyes locked on Valerie's back the whole time.

Ever since her husband, Gengis, tried to get back inside the facility after his banishing at Ordy's word, she had never forgiven him, and Ordy couldn't blame her.

-Remembering, at that instance, the things that Laslar had communicated to him before his arrival about this Wastelander- he craned his head up and over his shoulder to the haunting, shallow, and levitating form of the Deathclaw floating in the tube behind him.

He tuned out all the noise around him, looked at the creature's lithe, angular head, and its thin and shut eyes- the tip of its snout obscured beneath the curved girth of a rebreather cap.

Ordy wondered what this Wastelander had done to earn the loyalty of something so fiercely independent and destructive.

Something plastic, heavy, and delicate, shattered somewhere nearby- a group of men were frantically trying to separate two others who had started throwing fists at each other. Ordy raised a brow to this, and looked back at the pod again.

The Deathclaw was here... His life, all the people of the Institute, were all around and behind him.

...Was there really a difference between the two by now?

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

The art of sword fighting wasn't exactly a 'Mastered' skill of Sanford Tobs' varying combat techniques. Sure he had held his own with blades in the past, he'd even locked weapons with combatants several times before the recent fights with the synth teams...

But a prolonged sword fight? A duel of sorts?

Never. Never like this.

 ** _CHSK! CSHSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSKKKK-_** Sparks and blobs of pure crimson energy lapped and dripped from a flashing connection of screaming chain-blade and energized steel.

Laslar Seduun kept their weapons locked right over Sanford's helmet- both of their eyes glued to the connection that was dividing who would live and die. Sanford's one arm, the whole gauntlet, was quivering from keeping the force evened as was Laslar's- the two men hissed snarls at each other through two sets of grit teeth.

Sanford brought up his rifle from the other hand, aimed it at Laslar's stomach plating- the Superintendent barked loudly, and tore upwards with his Ripper.

 ** _CSHSHSH-sshhHHHHMM-!_** -The weapons snagged apart, and Sanford followed up with the momentum, striking in a slash for Laslar's head.

The Superintendent looked seamless in his brief dodge- all he did was angle his helm back in a quick jerk, and the energized cutlass sizzled the air right before the tip of his headgear's snout.

Sanford stepped back, angled his shoulder and head aside, and let Laslar's reaction swipe scream rotating teeth of mechanized metal that whizzed right past the X-01's rebreather nozzle.

 ** _CSSHK! CCHSSK! CHM-CM-CM-! CHSSSSKKKK!_** -The two men swept and parried in a blindingly fast dash of swinging arms- both of their ranged weapons were tensely draped in the opposite gauntlets- both unable to aim through the concentration needed to keep the other's blade from his throat.

Sanford held his sword horizontal, caught Laslar's underhanded cut with a flash of sparks and a scream of metal.

Bouncing back from the successful block, Laslar brought his Tri-Archer up- and Sanford rushed forwards, slashing left and right with his cutlass- the glowing red saber missing Laslar's arm as the Superintendent jerked his limb up and down in opposite cohesion.

 ** _CLKC CLK CLK!_** -A quad of shots flickered through the air, buzzing molecules in Sanford's hearing whilst he angled to the left- he followed up by lashing out with his armored heel.

 ** _CLKM!_** -"-GAH-!" -Laslar stumbled back with a feral bark when Sanford's heel bounced off the plating of his cuirass at the gut- it left a heel-shaped dent in the dark drab metal.

 ** _PMPMPMPM-_** Laslar twisted his body off to the flank, practically spinning off to the side- he planted a boot into the flooring and catapulted his tossed weight back towards the unsuspecting scavenger, who had missed every shot.

 ** _cccCCCSHSM-!_** -The Ripper dashed right in front of his face, Sanford reeled back, and Laslar kept on lumbering fowards.

Grunting, screaming, yelling, the two men tore at each other ferociously, and neither party could seem to lay a meaningful hit on the other.

Down the passage way, Sergeant Luft and what few remaining men he had left were caught between trying to aim for the Wastelander, and avoiding possibly shooting their own leader. Laslar was the one that was directly facing their side of the view- Sanford was behind him, and all Luft could see was Laslar's armored back as his armor jerked around and tossed with the fighting.

Luft grumbled, hissing through his teeth as his suit automatically slipped another syringe of stimulant through the cybernetic port at the base of his neck.

His hip was flaring in horrible pain- he'd been glanced by a beam shot out from the Wastelander's rifle, and the shot had ripped right through his exo's hip plating, burned through his jumpsuit, and left a black trench along his pale skin.

Luft couldn't fall to a kneel properly around the bend of his pylon- so he had started to rely on just having the squad fire if the opportunity arose. He was on his backside down on the decking of the passage, glancing around the pylon's base to watch the melee between his leader and the scavenger.

Luft winced when Laslar connected blades with Sanford, swung the joining to the right, and came around on the other side with the handle butt of his Tri-Archer.

 ** _CLUG!_** -It whacked Sanford upside the head.

Rearing back, Sanford's arms flailed for a moment- he felt like one of those cartoon characters in the old Saturday morning shows he watched as a baby when they had a pot over their heads, and then someone hit it with a blunt object.

He regained his footing, and the Texan Terror was all over him again.

 ** _CHSK-! CHCMCHCM! CHM! -_** He managed to dash away three strikes in a row, and Laslar started building up a yell in his throat, repeatedly slashing again, and again, and again.

"-Why-won'-t-YOU-DIE?!" Laslar shrieked between swings.

Sanford parried one last time- batted away the revving Ripper to the side, he raised his gun-

"-RAGH!" -Laslar's knee butted up, connected with his fist, knocked the rifle clean out of his grip. Sanford saw his beloved gun fly right over his head- and so he was left with nothing but his cutlass and fists.

He acted accordingly.

 ** _CLK!_** -Sanford shoulder-checked himself into the Superintendent, rushing forwards, gripping Laslar's gauntlet with the Tri-Archer in one fist, and bringing down the handle of his cutlass with the other.

Laslar went wide eyed beneath the insectoid lenses of his helmet- he saw the blade descend, and then his world was rocked with an earth-shaking impact that rattled his whole head right through the headgear, whilst Sanford used the end of his weapon as a blunt.

Sanford used his foot to separate the two of them- **_CLK!_** -Laslar grunted from the impact, stepped back- **_CLD-!_** -Then Sanford wound his fist from the flank, and drew his gauntlet in a neck-bending punch across the Superintendent's helmed head.

"-AGH-!" Laslar screamed, his entire head raggedly swinging off to the side, sparks dislodging from the hit.

"-You wanna' know WHY I won't die-?!" Sanford cried, raising his blade, and bringing it down from an upward angle. "-Because- FUCK YOU-!"

"-COMEHERE-!" Laslar twisted left, raised his gauntlet, and before Sanford knew what was happening, the Superintendent had wrapped his arm under his, Sanford's hand, and subsequently his blade, were pinned against the plating beneath Laslar's rear pauldron.

Sanford initially thought the move to be pointless with the armor protecting him- but when Laslar bunched his arm, snarling with effort, Sanford's confidence was dashed when he heard metal start to groan, and a small crunching sound from stressed bionics in his suit's forearm.

Laslar would snap off his whole limb at this rate.

Sanford brought his other fist into play- and he crashed his armored fingers into Laslar's helmet.

 ** _CSHK! CHSK! CHSK!_** -He wailed on his Enclave-loyal foe's head, jerking the helm again and again, leaving dents on the forehead, the cheek protrusions, he shattered one of the eye lenses. Inside, briefly, Sanford was awarded the hateful stare of a emotionless, colorless, gray eye inside the headgear, locked to him without a care to the harm done.

Sanford sneered, and he hauled their weight downwards, tossing everything he had to the left.

 ** _BMM-mm_** -Laslar's body had to weigh a ton inside all that armor, as such the Superintendent thundered and dented the decking as his massive, flailing form clattered to the ground at Sanford's feet.

Sanford had him.

The Wastelander scrambled over to the flank, grabbed up his fallen rifle from the decking- and Laslar hadn't even started to sit up before the barrel of a hungry, armor-piercing Laser emitter was in his face.

Laslar looked up at the gun, and then at its wielder, who, for that split second, was sneering even moreso beneath his helmet.

 _End of the line._ Sanford thought.

Laslar hadn't even thought of some, dramatic last-minute statement himself- he was too clouded with rage, to even think clearly before death itself.

Sanford had just compressed his finger-

-And then he got shot from multiple directions at once.

 ** _CLK-whm-whm-CLKK!_** -Crimson beams of energy bit into his suit from the front, bouncing and sliding off in contrails of sparks- and plasma ate into the other side, splatting in misty green bursts into the rear of his cuirass.

Sanford's eyes bugged, his clenched his teeth, and the first thing he did was clear the passageway to the side- he threw himself behind a pylon, staring out to his flank, seeing the Superintendent still lying out there, his refractor fields flickering from glancing shots.

Sanford heard the Enclave soldiers hollering to each other, and even though he wasn't in the line of fire anymore, he still saw beads of plasma and crimson flickering across the passway, red from the north, green from the south.

He glanced around the bend of the pylon quickly, and then checked his suit's systems, and then the scanners in his HUD.

Swarming down the other end of the passageway, was a group of at least thirty synthetics, and they were shooting at him, AND the Enclave.

The synths fanned out for cover behind the pylons- several of them dropping from plasma bolts in their heads and chests.

Panting from the exhertion of the fighting- Sanford watched as his enemy, Laslar Seduun, flailed and clawed across the floor onto his feet, where he sprinted back for cover among the rest of his soldiers. The fire only intensified as more and more synthetics poured in from the northern end of the way.

Sanford heard some panicked shouts, some of the plasma fire slackened.

He glanced quickly to where the Enclave soldiers had hunkered down. He smiled when he saw a cluster of synthetics wielding holo-blades had come from the other direction of the pass, and had meshed themselves in with a vicious melee against Laslar's squad.

Sanford saw the Superintendent himself hacking away at a synth with his Ripper, tearing open its chest and casting internal parts everywhere. The sniper, with the scoped Laser rifle that had given him trouble in the past, was gripping the arms of a kicking and jerking synth, holding it up in the air for one of the other soldiers to shoot it.

This, right here, was the perfect distraction.

Sanford had them.

 ** _clk clk_** -A synth stood next to him, looking at him, its holo-blade lowered by its hip mid-step- as if surprised to see him back there.

Sanford raised his gun and put a single bolt in its head, the body tossed back, and the first thing he did, was run.

Sanford left himself be vulnerable in the field of fire- he ran on the side of the raging fight, his cutlass slashing away any synths that jumped in front of him, his rifle barking and spraying clusters of synthetics that were at mid-distance.

An Enclave soldier was screaming and hollering- he tore off a synth that had jumped over his shoulders and was holding steadfast- he stomped on the twitching body, looked up, gasped at the sight of Sanford rumbling towards him- and then dropped when a grouping of laser shots punched into his head.

Sanford shouldered the body away, it rumbled somewhere behind him-

 ** _PMMKSSZZZzzzkk!_**

-A burst of illuminated, green energy, synthetics bodies flying all over the place on the outskirts of a gigantic, green bubble of fire.

Laslar was in the mess, screaming at the top of his lungs, having lost his rifle somewhere in the tustle- he slashed his Ripper with one hand, and started tearing, clicking, and throwing Plasma Grenades off his belt all over the place, like one would find an abundance of candy.

Explosions went off everywhere- they blew holes in the walls of the passageway, damaged and indented pylons, killed swathes of synths, killed Enclave soldiers- Laslar was still belting it out, both the scream, and the explosives, and Sanford just kept hacking and running through anyone in his way.

This whole thing had turned into a shitshow.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

 ** _bmmmm..._**

 ** _bmm..._**

 ** _BMM..._**

-More explosions, faint sounds of gunfire, continued to echo and distantly reverberate about the internals of the Institute facility.

And while the science teams of the CIT were panicking, and fighting, and debating within their little computing hall, with their powerless Director- Hancock the Mr. Gutsy, second in command of Sanford Tobs, had just finished rerouting power to his flight systems on the floor of the cell.

"...I think I've got it... SUCCESS! Ha! Ha-HA! You troll-nosed fuckers thought you could keep the HAN' down, did you?! Ha-ha! Well I'll show you-!"

 ** _BMM..._** -The whole cell rattled.

"...-GIMME' A MINUTE YOU BASTARDS!" Hancock screamed as light flickered by the thruster at the bottom of his rounded chassis. "...San' of the 'ford better not kill 'em all before I get out there... Can't save me and not leave me any Commies' to kill! Blasphemy!"

 ** _FwwHMM-shhhhh_** -A small flame hissed to life, and maintained, from the funnel-like center of Hancock's engine thruster.

"-HA! We have liftoff, bitches!" Soot belched everywhere, Hancock's arms flailed about as his systems began to fully restore physical control to his main processing. "-TO INFINITY-!"

 ** _BmmmmSSHHH-_** Hancock shot off the floor with the power of a ballastic missile, the robot laughing maniacally at the end of a wobbling arm of soot and fire that vomited from the insides of his filthied interior.

"-AND TO FAR AWAY PLACES-! WAIT- NO-NO, THAT'S NOT RIGHT-!" **_BMMKK!_** "-OAHH! ...Oh... WOW, I think... I can hear Roosevelt laughing at me... ALL THE WAY, from the other side-! ... Wow... FUCK YOU, Teddy, fuck you and your... MONACLE... I never wanted one... ANYWAY..."

Hancock slid from the center of the finger-laden crack he had created in the glass pane dividing his cell from the rest of the block, his limbs sprawled out across it like a squished spider, he clattered onto the floor with the sound of a rucksack of tin cans.

The Mr. Gutsy lay down there, soot now clouding the interior of the cell, sparks kicking from his thruster.

"...I need to reconsider my processing priorities, damn it!" Hancock shot out with all of a sudden. **_FWWHM-!_** He was levitating in the center of the cell, examining the cracked, but not breached, glass with his ocu-lenses. "...Hmm... Tough, but not a problem that CLARICE can't fix! Ha-ha!"

Hancock zoomed over to the back of the cell, a rocket chambered in his launcher, and then he aimed upwards with the barrel.

"-EAT WARHEAD, COMMUNISTS!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	60. Chapter 59

**CHAPTER 59**

 **Breakout.**

* * *

Laslar didn't remember a lot about his childhood, because, it was really all a nonstop pattern of the same thing every day, every moment, but with different places and different people.

Laslar never had a father, he was always a mistake to his mother as she carted him around for awhile, and eventually, she left him somewhere to go run off with a bunch of fighters to take on the Vampiros warbands, where she was undoubtedly killed like the waste of breath she had been.

His aunt and uncle took him in because they saw a nice guard dog for their home whenever they were off raiding, or fighting against foreign invasion from the south or west- they barely fed him, they kicked the crap out of him until he pissed blood, they yelled at him, they used all these things to make him vicious.

Laslar started learning how to use guns, how to use blades, at a very, very young age- he trained himself mostly, his aunt and uncle armed him whenever they needed to hunt, and they didn't worry about Laslar turning these tools on them, because they understood mutually the same thing he did.

His aunt and uncle- their names always escaped him, because after they died, Laslar no longer cared about their memory in his glee -were the only things that he could rely on to learn what he needed to in order to survive.

So Laslar bided his time when he was a little boy- he endured the beatings, the horrible living conditions, the sickness and pain- and when the Vampiros finally conquered deep enough into Texas and New Mexico that they reached their village, he took his opportunity to strike out.

Laslar remembered specifically letting his uncle die- he didn't see what happened to his aunt before he found her body, where Vampiros raiders had broken in, she had carved two of them up with a machete before they shot her, had their way with the body, and started torching the hut.

The south, the borders of former Mexico, the midwest and central North America had turned into great, spanning shitholes of violent, evil people doing violent and evil things to survive and to gain power. Laslar was thrown into the meat grinder, and he decided, after his terrible relatives were dead, that he would be the thing fear itself, feared.

Laslar had earned every bit of his title from back then- the Texan Terror -he committed horrendous crimes, absolutely heinous crimes... He murdered, he burned and raized, he killed combatants indiscriminantly... Laslar always had a trailing hint of knowledge, in the back of his convoluted, evil mind, that there were children out there that were his, from all the women he had forced himself upon.

He had always had the trailing hint of knowledge, that there were thousands of widowers, widows, orphans that he had made, and, while all of them might not still be alive anymore, especially after the depopulating wars between the Vampiros and the natives of the midwest and middle America, and between the Vampiros and Caesar's Legion... Laslar always understood that they had been, or still were, there.

Laslar had no intention of trying to redeem himself from the damning things he had done throughout his life, he had no intention to make it unclear to anyone around him of what he had done, and he also had no intention of discovering the true final punishment that no man had the power to grant.

Laslar kept killing things for himself, and eventually under the guise of the Enclave's interests, because he did not want to see what the afterlife had in mind for him- and he also did it because it was all he knew how to do.

Laslar did not dream, and he did not suffer nightmares, nor did he suffer mental breakdowns from all the things he had done and had seen... But he remembered every face, he remembered how killing became like a drug to him, he remembered the coldness that filled his heart, his eyes, his mind.

The only thing that could drive Laslar nowadays, were anger, and the sensation of winning over others- and for years the only 'Others' that existed in his life, were the High Command of the Enclave.

Laslar had survived the chilling winters, boiling summers, irradiated and war torn landscapes of the unforgiving badlands of Texas, Mexico, and Utah- he had survived the horrors of the lands of the Legion, he had survived the radiation-bathed hills of Maryland and D.C., the clogged and filthy streets of the city of Washington, the vast emptiness of Pennsylvania, and the armies of the NCR.

...So why was it, that when he was brought before this... CHILD, he could not squash the hapless idiot and all his insolence like a bug?

Why was it, that where so many Californian soldiers were hacked to death, where so many Texan Brotherhood overseers had their throats cut, where so many Legion, and Eastern Chapter, and Outcast, and Super Mutants- the powerful, powerful things, of the wasteland had fallen, this... Scavenger, this, Sanford, stood strong?

Why was that?

What WAS he?

Laslar, today, after all his wars, all his crimes, all the chaos and madness he had spread in his wake- could not understand the very fabric of WHY, as he cut down synth after synth, he could kill and defeat so much, but not a scavenger.

He had beaten thousands of professional soldiers, thousands of tireless and voracious beasts that were driven by the definition of boundless hunger, and hundreds of leaders that had underestimated his tactical brutality.

All of that, and the thing he could not beat was some stupid ass commoner guy in Boston.

It didn't even make sense.

It defied all logic.

It... Was... Madness. The thing he had terrorized the midwest with.

Absolute fucking madness.

 ** _CHSK-! CHSSSSM!_** -He just kept hacking synths. That was all he knew how to do, it was the only thing that sated his rage, was death, even death to machines.

He saw Sanford on the other side of this mess- he was chopping synthetics aside too, there were barely any of Laslar's men left as bulwarks in the swarming horde of tens of synthetic soldiers that came at them with holo-blades, rifle butts, bare hands even.

"WASTELANDEERRR!" Laslar screamed at the top of his lungs- hacking left and right, casting corpses at his boots which were then crushed and dashed beneath his stomping heels as he cleaved his way closer.

He saw Luft to his flank- he had his own Ripper sidearm out, one of the smaller standardized variants, not the custom monster Laslar ran about with- he was cutting down synths too, he'd lost his rifle somewhere in the pile.

There were only three other soldiers left with them by now- they used their rifles and Rippers with abandon- swinging back and forth, kicking, punching, head-butting- one went down with a mess of ten synthetics rapidly digging into the hips and gut of his ruined curaiss with holo-blades- blood fountained.

Laslar hacked aside one last combatant- and sprayed the whole pile with his Tri-Archer- **_CLKCLCKLCKCLK_** -He cut down the whole group.

Sanford left a road of dead behind him as he viciously fought his way to the other end of the passage- back towards the spiral stairway that lead to the 2nd floor computing hall the cowardly Institute scientists had gathered in.

Laslar couldn't let him reach the Deathclaw, that would mean he would break the reptile out of its pod, and it would escape, and that meant that all of this would have been for nothing.

He had to keep killing. Killing would solve the problem.

He just had to keep-

 ** _BMMMMSSKKKK!_**

-A huge plume of fire, tossed metal, blackened debris erupted like the head of a volcano on the other end of the passageway from where Laslar fought- bursting through the curved, chrome wall there, and forming a firecloud that reached the ceiling.

Dead synths were tossed everywhere, Luft, Laslar, his two men were thrown off their armored heels from the concussion of an explosion that couldn't have been caused by anything less than a tactical ICBM it seemed.

Sanford was scrambling to his knees among the flailing horde of synthetics- as seen by the Superintendent in a final glance mid-flight.

 ** _CLKNK!MMmm..._** Laslar's whole body shook and jolted as he was slammed against the face of a pylon, crushing a pair of synths that had flown behind him and had been crushed by his weight.

He slid to the floor, still kind-of standing with his back against the metal- he blinked rapidly, and realized that there was an acute pain in his ears from the suit's lack of ability to compensate for the concussive force of the impact.

Fire and embers licked through the air, slabs and tears of metal bounced off the floor, off of twitching or stilled mounds of synths, slapped off walls and pylons and fell again- fire crackled and hummed in his hearing as all the shooting, hacking, and screaming stopped.

Laslar looked up.

Sanford, from across the way, grunted, and barked one last time- and tore his cutlass from the neck of his last man, just beneath the chin of his helmet. The body rumbled and fell in the layers of corpses around him- and Sanford met the Superintendent's gaze, with a burning crater in the wall behind him.

Laslar's eyes were big, his lips twitching, hands trembling still- he still held his Ripper, his Tri-Archer.

He glanced at the flaming wreck that had been torn into the curved metals of the wall of the passage- noticed a slightness of movement from within the sooty mess beyond.

"-I'll... KILL you..." He snarled, raising his Tri-Archer for Sanford. "-I'll- KILL YOU-!"

"-HA! In your wet-dreams, you goat-fucker!"

"-Wha-?!"

 ** _fffWHHSSHH!_**

-A three-armed monstrosity left an arm of soot to ghostily trace its breakage of the fiery depths of the crater, as it levitated in the center of the hallway, and raised a single limb, tipped with a multi-purpose, superiority launcher.

A missile sailed from the nozzle, leaving a whimsical curl of smoke in its wake- Laslar saw the munition incoming, went wide eyed again- and tossed his body to the side, away from the pylon.

"-LOOK OUT!" Luft screamed from the floor nearby.

 ** _BMMMMMMLLLKKK!_**

-Both Enclave soldiers vanished in a puff of soot and a brief lick of flame, the pylon shrieked, indented, cracked, and tore sparking plates off the cieling above as it snapped off its moorings and collapsed in a smoking wreck into the mounds of bodies around it.

-Nearby, Sanford Tobs winced at the display of destruction, and watched the plumage of smoke branch out, and gradually thin.

...For a moment there was quiet once more, save the crackling of fire, and the echoing rants of a certain robotic menace as he preached his own skill.

"-HA! I fucked you up, Texan-Slut-Bag! HA! Ha-ha! Stick THAT in your Spirit-Pole and suck it! WOOO! Death to Nazis! U.S.A! U.S.A! U.S.A! U.S... A... U.S.A...A... Hey," Hancock zoomed over to Sanford, who stood there, glaring over his pauldron, lowering his weapons by his hips. "...I believe I... KNOW you..."

"...Yep." Sanford croaked after a pause. "...I believe, you most certainly do."

"I know! You're... A SALESMAN!"

"...Mmhm."

"And you... ARE TRYING TO SELL ME SOMETHING!"

"...Yep."

"-WELL, take your 'As-Seen-On-TV' -motto, and shove it down your tobacco-clogged windpipe! I hope you get HOTDOG water on your suit! You business-wear obsessed son of a bitch!"

"Hancock,"

"WHAT?!"

"Shut the hell up."

"...Well played... Monkey..." Hancock raised his buzzsaw, Sanford clamped his blade to his hip, raised a fist, and pumped it once on the side. "-We're BACK in business! Ha-ha! The world shall tremble, from the tag-team hyperforce, of SANFORD, the monkey! And HANCOCK, the-! Uhm... THE HANCOCK! YES!"

"How'd you blow through the wall?" Sanford shook his head and gazed at the flaming tear in the metal behin them.

"Home-made explosives, baby! Nothing quite like them! Who said Democracy was always enforced with PROFESSIONAL arms, eh? Standardization is for uneducated slobs!"

"You would know, man."

"-See?! SOMEONE appreciates my informed view on this gaping ass-crack we call a world! I pride myself on- OH, hey! Waitaminute-THAT wasn't supportive of the HAN'! You slanted wax-application!"

"Eat me."

"-OOOooohhh-HO-HO! I see, how THIS, is goin' down!"

"You do, huh?"

"AB-so-LUTLEY! You broke me out of prison to RUB IT, in my FACE! -Well, ocu-lenses... DOESN'T MATTER! I'll swab the floor with these egg-heads' fat brains! Let's cut open some skulls!"

"You know where all the Institute staff is hiding?"

"Oh for the love of- do ya' SEE, the big wad of scumbags on your little scans there, sir?!"

"...Yep. Not too far away, just down here."

"It's a swarm of angry nerds! FUCKERS! Let's steal their pocket protectors and insult their mothers! AH-HA!"

"How about a warm up before that?" Sanford smirked, eyeing a patch of fresh synthetics moving down the scanner screen towards them from the halls ahead.

"-Communists! I always KNEW those bastards would try to do me in underground! It's the opposite of God and his attempts to strike me down with asteroids!"

"Asteroids, huh." Sanford smiled, moving off to the side, behind a pylon. "Get in cover, would ya'?"

"-GAUDALCANAL'S BEING BOMBED AGAIN!"

Laser fire flickered by as the robot hurled himself behind Sanford, and together, the team to undo all teams, leant out of hiding, and began peppering the group of synthetics that emerged from down the way ahead.

"-It's like watching a trainwreck!" Hancock cackled. "-In slow motion! WITH FLAMING JAP' PLANES RAINING FROM THE FRIGGIN' SKY! AH-HAHAHAHA!"

"Even prison couldn't set you straight, Han'!" Sanford laughed. "-Keep the insanity going for me!"

"I COULDN'T EVEN STOP IF I WANTED TOO! IN THE NAME OF DEMOCRACY, UNDERWEAR, AND IMPROPERLY APPLIED BAND-AIDS! A-TAAACCCKKKK!"

Sanford and Hancock charged into a cluster of synthetics wielding holo-blades- and the bodies started flying, and the robot was still screaming his same warcry even after the charge had briefly lived itself out.

Several feet away, Laslar Seduun, of course, having survived the missile shot- clambered free of a few slabs of broken steel, and parts of fallen synthetics. There was a brief avalanche of blackened ruin that cascaded from his armor's burnt hide.

Similarly, nearby, Luft clawed out from the mounds of ruin, and sat up beside his Superintendent.

"...That didn't go as planned." The Sergeant huffed.

"Squad's fuckin' dead..." Laslar growled, standing up on creaking servo-joints. "...C'mon..."

"Shouldn't we try to kill them again?" Luft asked sarcastically, standing up as the Superintendent watched him briefly.

"We need to get the 'Claw before they do."

"We can't carry it, Las'."

"We can kill it. They won't take a body."

"...What will that give us?"

"A corpse. Something for D.C."

"Sir," Luft snorted, glancing over as Sanford and Hancock hacked through a fresh cluster of synthetics- shooting, buzzsawing, and slashing with abandon. "-I didn't like this from the moment that damned 'bird landed."

"Necessary losses," Laslar observed the dead bodies of their squad. "Let's go."

"...Yes sir."

"Where's your rifle?"

"Lost it."

"Here," Laslar shoved one of the soldier's Plasma rifles into the Sergeant's grip. Luft took it with a look of developing sickness. "MOVE."

"Sir."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Most of the synthetics had left the computing hall by this point- having been redirected by Valerie to attack the outsiders.

Director Ordy, the powerless leader of the always divided Institute, just kept on sulking like a child around the pod of the Deathclaw, waiting, for... Something, anything. An explosion to kill them all, a victorious Valerie to emerge into the room and announce all the outsiders being dead.

Maybe Laslar would come back and kill all of them after emerging the sole survivor from the rumbling mess outside.

Ordy, sitting on the floor before the wheeled base of the Deathclaw's tank- looked over all the heads of the crowd, and he gazed to the sealed pill-shaped bulkhead across the large chamber longingly. He half hoped the Wastelander would step through it, and maybe Ordy could reason with him.

But for some reason, Ordy just... KNEW, that this, was the end of what he had been trying to repair for the last few years.

 ** _blep_**

 ** _blep_**

 ** _blep_** -Through all the noise, all the ruckus, the shouting... Ordy could hear one of the computer monitors nearby complaining.

He quirked a gray brow, sat up on creaking joints, and shouldered past some of the staff that had gathered in the center of the room before him. He rounded the edge of a row of consoles, and soon bowed over the keyboard and series of screens above it.

He saw a structural alert was noted- a breach from the prison cell ward.

He shut his eyes.

That damned robot got out obviously.

Breathing, and shaking his head quickly- he typed in a few passcodes to access the other alerts listed- grunting in anger when a woman butted by to his rear in a blind hurry.

There was an alert for the... Tunnel... Section... Out into Charles River.

...Oh no.

"She's coming." Ordy muttered. "After all these years, she's actually coming here."

Linda had bided her time more expertly then any other person in the Institute.

All these years later, and the second it was determined that an all-out fight had broken out, there were tens of synthetic signals traveling through the empty hauling tunnel at blinding speeds, and they were dispersing, as they took to ventihilation shafts and plumbing pipes.

So... Linda had deployed her Gen-X models.

Ordy slowly detached from the keyboard of the console, and stared ahead blankly.

Caught between a Deathclaw in stasis, a raving lunatic from the Enclave, a bloodthirsty Wastelander and his robot, and now a strike team of Generation-X synths from the Division.

They were all dead.

 ** _BMMK!_**

-The bulkhead flew off its hinges on the other side of the room.

Ordy ducked a bit as reaction from the sound- turned around- and to his horror, there were two, blackened, damage-ridden suits of Enclave Power Armor shouldering in from the steaming, ragged frame, stepping over the fallen door.

All of the commotion in the room settled for a brief moment, as fifty souls looked over in sudden shock.

Even from his distance, across this big chamber, Ordy heard the Superintendent of the Enclave, Laslar Seduun, state the one thing, that simply showed what he truly was- not a man, not human, but the very monster of the Texan Terror.

"Shoot them."

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

"It's effortless! ABSOLUTE BAD-ASSERY! Ha-ahaha!" Hancock was still ranting even after the last body fell, and he and his best friend stood in a hallway literally PILED, with dead synths, and a small cluster of dead Enclave soldiers.

Sanford stalked among the remains for a minute or two- swinging his arms, breathing heavily from the exhausting effort- he stepped on any synths that were still twitching, or trying to claw around with their arms after their legs had been severed or ruined.

"We seriously, need to consider making a comic-book series about our shit!" Hancock laughed, his buzzsaw revving. "-The Adventures, of the HAN'! And his sidekick! SANFORD! Monkey man of the 66th Dimension! GUEST STARRING, LIZARD-LICK! The escargo-obsessed iguana-chick!"

"Stop stroking yourself and let's go, Han'." Sanford wheezed as he stomped on by. "-Let's get Nyx, and get the HELL out of this place..."

"But it's so... ADVANCED," Hancock noted as he followed on a whistling thruster flame. "-It looks like one of those crappy movies where all the dumb actors in cargo shorts walk around wearing aluminum foil!"

"Aluminum, huh?" Sanford smiled.

"Indeed, sir! AL-uu-MINIUM! Like them Brits' always say it as!"

"Sure."

"-Hey, uh, not to burst your foreigner bubble,"

"MY bubble?"

"-But it looks like someone's eating all of our scientists! HOLY FUCK-BALLS! They're dropping like flies!"

"...What are you...-OH SHIT!" Sanford checked his scanners. "-We gotta' go! A-And you're sure, that she's there?!"

"Affirmative!"

"It's Laslar..." Sanford snorted.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

In Texas, Laslar was against the world. If there was another living thing he came across, he killed it, scavenged it, left it to rot.

The only people in Texas back then were the brutish tribes he had been born in, the invasive Vampiros and Legionaries, and lots of highwaymen and bandits. It was all a mob of people doing what he was doing- clawing through life desperately, and doing anything to survive.

That was why Laslar had made it a profession- the art of extermination -because he figured, if you shot the civilians, not only did you take away the ability for your foe to repopulate, but you took away their children's ability to restart what their parents had.

Laslar had been a proponent of destroying settlements, not subjegating them- it was why the NCR, the Legion, practically the entire West Coast and midwest areas knew who he was- he was vicious, and merciless.

Laslar relived a bit of his old life every time he killed something- it was a sickness that had been lodged in his very skull since the age of young adulthood, and it continued to pulse and churn within his blackened mind every day.

He had brief flashbacks of the fleeing masses of women and children, young men, elderly- all them howling curses to him, to each other, crying out in terror and confusion- he remembered what it felt like to direct his weapon at them, pull the trigger, watch them fall down, stilled.

When it came to butchering people, not just fighting them- it was all a never ending pattern of pointing, and shooting, pointing, and shooting, pointing, and shooting, and pointing... Civilians were worthless, and hapless, thus, the people of the Institute were no different.

Most of them were veterans of the years of inner conflict that had been waged throughout their facility- some of them had ordered synths to kill other members of their staffs, some of them had seen these deaths occur, had been caught in fights and had started them...

They were all brilliant people, corrupted, by materialistic wealth, power, and drunken delusions of authority.

So after all the mistakes the Institute made, after all the people it had murdered, hurt, displaced, robbed from... After all the technological marvels they had started, and picked up on, after all of that... The Institute's Secession was completely wiped out in a span of minutes.

Laslar Seduun stepped into the chamber and started strafing, back and forth, back and forth- with no clear, definitive targets in mind- he just sprayed the room, grinning, toothily, as he enacted his rage, his hatred and his anger that had broiled up from the very beginning of his horrid life.

Blood spattered from torsos that were burnt and split open at their chests or guts- legs were blown off, arms were blown off, heads were incinerated- there were screams all over the place, men and women, there were curses- Laslar had a swarm of diminishing bodies flowing away from him towards the back of the chamber, leaving trails of corpses in their wake.

His shattered helmet was highlighted green with each shot he made- he slowly stepped into the center of the chamber, up to the first row of consoles- and he just kept shooting anything that moved.

Behind him, still in the doorframe, Sergeant Luft was stilled in a great trepidation for his own leader's word- he had his Plasma rifle raised, but he did not shoot it, he just watched Laslar... Kill all of them.

They cried, they screamed, they flailed around whenever bolts of burning green clipped into their lab coats, and dropped them hurriedly- wails cut short, bodies tumbling... Even Luft didn't understand this chaos.

"-I SAID FOR YOU, TO FUCKING SHOOT!" Laslar barked over his shoulderplate, casting away an expended cell for the Tri-Archer, and shoving a fresh one in the receiver, before he started firing again. "-KILL THEM!"

Luft swallowed, his mouth hung open, and he looked out across the room without comment, without a noise.

There were tens of bodies draped across the floor, over consoles, over each other... Some of the pathetic little scientists were still scrambling about, clawing over the floor, behind computers... Luft saw Laslar stop in his slaughtering, and glare darkly back to him.

Laslar tremored with heavy breaths, he nodded for the rifle in Luft's hands, ignoring the clacks of shoes against tile, or the tumbling of bodies as what few survivors there were quietly skittered away into the corners of the chamber- hiding behind tanks, consoles, or under desks.

"I said... To SHOOT." Laslar snarled.

Luft stood rigid, he licked his lips, looked out across the chamber, and saw an older man clambering over the stacked forms of three of his kin- he fell over them, his eyes tearing, he was on his one knee and saw the Enclave soldier aiming at him.

The man held up his hands, mouth open in a silent plea for mercy- Laslar snorted nearby, and Luft kept his gun leveled, and then he shot the man dead.

 ** _CLK_** -The bolt of green tore into the fellow's chest, and he curled in on himself, and slowly folded to the ground. Nothing dramatic, he just closed in on himself like a dying bug, and passed quietly.

Luft felt nothing.

But he kept looking at the body, even as Laslar stomped away, towards the back of the chamber.

The Superintendent, now trotting through a chamber of stillness, and haunting quiet- developed a gradual chuckle in the back of his throat as he worked around the heaped and entangled bodies of almost fifty helpless human beings strewn across the area.

He looked down at some of the faces he passed- eyes open, some closed, mouths open, some closed... Varying states of damage to the physical form, sometimes a lot of blood, sometimes none, and just a burnt welt in their chests or stomachs.

Laslar turned his glance to the back of the room.

Luft was still standing back there.

"...SO, Director," Laslar spat out ahead of himself- closing in on the floating form of the Deathclaw in the tube. "...Director Ordy, I know you're back there, like the little cowardly shit that you are... You're next."

-Just like Laslar's feral sense could detect, Director Ordy was indeed behind that same tube, and he was in a fetal position, hudding his knees to his chest... He had his eyes shut, and he was sobbing.

As a new arrival to this horrible, horrible mess, you could never resonate with the sheer amount of energy that had been invested in this place, in all these people, and in Linda... Ordy was ruined. Mentally, he was so ruined.

His entire team, every, single, one of them... Murdered, by the brute that was soon to kill him next.

His facility, wrecked. His synthetic army, gone to the last operating system.

Ordy could see some of the bodies around the rear flanks of the pods around the one with the Deathclaw, the one he was hiding behind- he saw the Courser's body in there, XM-988, his chest blown open where the Superintendent had effortlessly dropped him.

For a moment, Ordy thought about Valerie, and how it had been HER, that had reprogrammed all the synths to enact this fight that they couldn't possibly have won...

...He wondered if Laslar had gotten to her too. He hoped he did.

"...You know, Director, I had to kill a lot of people here in old Boston, just for you to wreck my fuckin' day..." Laslar said, stepping over to face the Deathclaw in the pod. "I'd thank you for the exposure to the continued target practice, but, I'm still killing you."

Ordy just squeezed his eyes shut tighter.

Maybe it was for the best anyway. He deserved it. For all of the bedlam he had caused across Boston, all the people murdered and replicated, all the communities driven to hate the Institute because of roving packs of androids stealing their survival equipment.

According to the people who had been here before him, the Institute was meant to help people. Funny how that all turned out.

'A train wreck in slow motion.' -Linda would've described it like that.

Ordy flashed a brief grin to himself.

He missed Linda.

Ironically, as he thought of her, it was her very interference, that would save him.

 ** _Clkmkmm..._** -Something was torn off of the ceiling of the computing hall, and Laslar was stopped in his move for the hiding, pathetic Director- he spiraled around and saw a square panel finish its tumbling descent from the plated top of the chamber.

He looked up, and saw a square hole up there.

It must have been a shaft of some kind.

However, air, wasn't the only thing coming out of it.

It looked like a torpedo. A thin, metallic, complex torpedo- with curving porcelain-looking plates of armor over layered chrome, and cylinder laden electronics. Laslar thought it was part of the vent that had fallen from inside, or some kind of debris at first.

However, this robotic pylon smacked tip-first onto the body-strewn floor below, and the very tower unfolded, and grew larger, and more spread out.

Two spindly, humanoid arms shot out from either side of it, as did two legs, and the transforming machine now stood on cloven heels with three prongs each as toes, at a height of seven feet tall. What passed as some amalgamation of a humanoid head protruded from the pylon's top center, it was long, insectoid, eyeless, a detail-lacking cranium of white, with slight indents where eyes should've been.

The body continued unfurling from its mitigated size- Laslar realized this machine had catapulted itself through the shaft in that form to move faster- now that it had its jump, here was what it really looked like.

A Generation-X Synthetic operating system. Laslar had never seen one in person before, primarily because the Division, up until today, had kept to itself.

The thing now had two pincering claws on each arm folding out from the slots on its spindly, multi-plated forearms- each had a laser weapon's nozzle jutting from their palms, with thin fingers of six each.

The Gen-X synth was hunched over in its impressive height- its legs were digitigrade in nature, its arms long and lumbering- Laslar was frozen for a second from how fast the creature had presented itself on the ground floor of the chamber.

Standing among the bodies, the Gen-X synth's elongated head cocked to the side for a moment as it examined Laslar and Luft, processed its orders, and carried accordingly.

It raised its arms and shot Laslar in the chest.

 ** _PMPMPMPM_** -Red bolts flickered and bounced off his refractor fields like light would dapple across water- the Superintendent barked out angrily from the annoyance- he raised his Tri-Archer and planted a few shots into the Gen-X's chest.

 ** _CHSSK!_** -Its torso popped open, sparks flew, the spindly limbs flailed and convulsed- the advanced synthetic soldier clambered among the dead, and stilled.

"-Mother fucker..." Laslar growled.

"LASLAR!" Luft cried.

 ** _clkccmcmc..._**

 ** _CLK-mmm_**

 ** _Clkcmcmc..._**

 ** _clck_**

-Four more plates were kicked off the ceiling from above, they bounced into the bodies lying around the chamber, and four more Gen-X synths shot down, unfurled from their torpedo-like extrusions, and started bouncing around the room- shooting like crazy.

Laslar's refractor generators were screaming- his form flickered neon green multiple times, and he and Luft started shooting all around them- dropping pairs of the Gen-X synths across the whole chamber's floor- more of them kept dropping down from all five vent covers.

Laslar leapt back when one of them suddenly blocked his vision from the rest of the room- its towering form overtaking his whole front- he saw a third arm fold out from nano-packs on the android's ribsection, and instead of a hand topping this extra skeletal limb, it had a holo-blade.

He drew the butt of his Tri-Archer across its head, mangled it, sent it tumbling to the side where he shot the fallen body to stop it from moving.

Laslar looked up at the ceiling, just by chance, from a shadow at the top of his vision.

There were a pair of Gen-X synths crawling across the plating up there- their cloven feet magnetizing to the surface, and allowing the platforms to sprint literally across the walls and roof as they peppered the Enclave officers with laser fire.

"-YOU'RE FUCKING ME!" Laslar cried. "-LUFT! The ceiling!"

"-I SAW!"

-Back behind the pod with the unfortunate Deathclaw to be caught among all this, Director Ordy was curled up in a ball as he listened to the vicious firefight erupting around him. He flinched whenever bolts of lasers or plasma would sail nearby.

 ** _CLKCLKCLK-chszzzzz..._** -He heard three shrieks of metal, zapping ozone- Ordy leapt out of his own skin, and scrambled across the ground away from the pod when it jolted under impact.

He spun onto his back, and saw around the rounded flank of the tube, Laslar and Luft standing against the influxing tide of Linda's infiltrating Gen-X synths.

Ordy swallowed, and he looked at the tube.

There was smoke billowing from in front of it.

Bravely, the Director got onto his heels, in a crouch, and he shuffled over to the side of the pod, wrapping his arms around the chrome metal for some vain attempt at providing himself some reassurance of the rocking world around him.

He yelped when a Gen-X collapsed in front of the pod, and hissed and whined as its power systems shut off.

Blinking at the corpse, he thought about Linda again, with this android's back to him, slouched before the pod, defeated, by the Superintendent.

Ordy swallowed- he looked up at the translucent, drab glass of the tube.

-He gasped, and his blood ran cold.

The console moderating the tube's amniotic fluid, and the levels of chemical intake, had been pierced right through the keypad and screen with three stray laser bolts, three blackened craters steaming, and sparking internally before the Director.

Ordy looked through the glass again.

The Deathclaw's head was raised higher than it had been.

Its eyes were open.

Groggy, and thinned- he could still see their burning yellow shapes between the lids.

The reptile angled its head, by both shoulders, he could swear he saw the fluid filling the tube vibrate with the Deathclaw's cracking joints. Its fingers slowly flexed in the fluid, the rebreather cap over the tip of its snout floated down to oblivion with a casting of bubbles from its nostrils.

The Deathclaw's eyes were wide now, fingers splayed on the surface of the tube.

It examined the clear glass, brought back its horned cranium, and then crashed forwards with its forehead.

 ** _bmmsk_**

-The pod developed a spider-legged crack right where she made contact.

Ordy flinched, and he tossed himself back behind the pod.

 ** _bmmsk_**

-The crack grew.

Nyx's eyes opened fully, her cheeks puffed as she held her breath, her legs bunched up, she bucked her head again.

 ** _bmmsk_**

-A big arm of silvery breakage developed all down the glass of the tube's flank, all the way to the wheeled, chrome base, to its chrome capped top.

 ** _bmmsk_**

 ** _bmmmsk_**

 ** _bmmmsssk_**

...

 ** _bmm-CRSSSKKKK!SSHSHHHhhhhhmmmmmmm..._** -A small tidal wave of amniotic fluid flooded and flowed from the shattering tube of drab glass- and in the miniature, splashing, frothing tsunami's center, was the wet, scaly form of the Deathclaw.

She sailed a foot away from the pod, sliding on her flank through the corpses covering the computing hall's floor, she grabbed and tossed about, hands trying to find a leverage point, heels trying to determine flat ground.

She was blinking, hissing, coughing wetly and horridly- her tail swung arcs wildly behind her, casting ghostly-traced trails of liquid as it lashed through the air.

Nyx sat up on her palms and knees, she keeled over and vomited a small lake's worth of fluid from the pod onto the floor, and she hacked and coughed and hacked more.

Ordy, who was peering out from behind the pod, watched in both awe, and horror.

...Maybe he should just... You know... HIDE.

He did just that.

Laslar tore out his Ripper from the chest of a Gen-X- and he kicked the body away from him, turned over to see the Deathclaw out of her prison, draped over the floor, jaws gaping, eyes squinting, mind addled with disorientation.

He snorted, and aimed his Tri-Archer at her.

Better a corpse than nothing at all, he always said.

 ** _CLK_** -He fired once, it tore into Nyx's shoulder.

The Deathclaw screamed out, it was a reptilian-like sound, something alien in the ways to describe anguish- a reverberating hiss mixed with the roar of a great beast- she tumbled onto her side with a fresh, black wound welting her arm.

Laslar hurried over, firing as he went.

-To his surprise, of course, the way fate would have it, the Deathclaw ignored the subsequent bolts of plasma that ate into her ribcage and her upper arm- she clambered off the floor, screeched at him, and covered the distance between them in seconds, on all fours.

Laslar brought up his Ripper to parry a claw coming from the side- but Nyx was too fucking pissed off to necessarily have any want of actually dealing with the Superintendent.

 ** _CLKK!_** -Laslar suddenly felt weightless, his bones having a sensation of sailing inside his own body- Nyx gripped her whole hand over his helmed head, lifted him off his feet, and tossed him away like a ragdoll.

Laslar sailed through the air for five seconds, and plowed into one of the energy storage tanks on the side of the chamber.

 ** _CHHSSKKK! ssssssssss..._** -He left a man-shaped gash in the rounded aluminum, vanished inside, with steam billowing from the breakage and filling the whole side of the computing hall.

Nyx shook her head rapidly- now in pain, and confused- she heard shooting, she tried to rely on her sense of smell and her hearing, as she always had whenever she had been blinded, or unable to use her eyes.

A Gen-X synth jumped behind her, and she swung around and hacked it in two with a horizontal swipe of her claws, casting the two halves away cheaply.

Another one landed next to her, shot her three times in the back, and as she bellowed out, she slipped over to it and ran it through the gut up to her knuckles- she gripped the top half of the quivering, spindly body, and she tore the android in half from the waist up with her bare hands.

Tossing the halves away, she lumbered straight ahead, stomping through the corpses, smacking and chopping away any synths that attacked her- she reached Luft who had just kicked away his latest victim- and the Sergeant didn't even get to raise his plasma gun before she swiped across his chest.

The nails tore through the cuirass, they ate into his ribs eight-inches in and came out the other side.

As her hand breached the other side of his torso, blood flecked out with tortured strips of steel, and Luft quivered, still on his feet, before clambering over and becoming one with the piles of bodies.

Nyx cuffed at her face, she chopped away a few more synths, shook her head rapidly.

 ** _CLKSNM!_** -The Deathclaw vanished into the hallway outside the ruined, and destroyed computing hall- right through the pill-shaped frame that Laslar and his men had first taken to come and see her in the pod down here.

Now she was free.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	61. Chapter 60

**CHAPTER 60**

 **The Cold, Hard Truth.**

* * *

Sanford and Hancock hadn't taken long to reach the bulkhead of the main computing lab, as Hancock was able to route them to the chamber pretty well on first-hand accounts of what he had seen in the facility when the Institute took him.

According to his deranged friend, he had been strapped to an operating block, and a team had gone about trying to remove his flamethrower attachment when Hancock cut a man's arm off with his buzzsaw.

While Sanford initially thought it exaggerated, Hancock claimed he killed two men and hurt several others while he was resisting- eventually, the Institute's 'Director'- opted to nail him with an EMP round, and toss him into a specimen containment cell just to be safely away from him for a moment.

"-Dishonorable! Absolutely DISGUSTING! These, tick-pickin', scab-lickin' Reds can't even finish the job like REAL men! GROW A PAIR, YOU CHROME, BASTARDS!" The Mr. Gutsy bellowed into the relatively silent warrens of the facility.

"Stop yelling, please, by God's name..." Sanford groaned. "-I've spent the last two days looking for you and Anger-Management Girl, don't make my headache worse..."

"Worse than a pair of handcuffs, sir?"

"Would you- STOP it, with that weird-ass analogy?"

"But it annoys you! THAT MEANS IT'S ON THE MENU! WOO!"

"...Jesus Christ..."

"I just- LOVE ya', sir!"

"That's a first."

"FLEA-EATER!"

"Screaming coffee-machine."

"TROTSKY POSTER-KISSER!"

"Talking toilet."

"Your wife, in another life-! WAS A GORILLA!"

"In another life, eh? What's wrong with you, man." Sanford chuckled.

"Well it seems you've got the hots for Gator-Mator!"

"….I dunno'."

"Was it the French accent?!"

"…The… What? What do you mean, you freak?"

"I wonder what kind of weird-ass escargo' shit she could start giving off if you porked her!"

"-Oh Christ, just- STOP. Listen to me, just cut it off now."

"-THOUGH, apparently that's never gonna' happen either way! Seeing as you, oh, maybe… SUCKED FACE WITH THE LOCAL PROSTITUTES?! HUH?! Yeah! Saw that little tidbit crashing over the hill like a damnable storm! CALLED IT!"

"….Nothing happened."

"-HA! I'll believe that one when China isn't always on the brink of civil war!"

"….There IS no more China."

"SEMANTICS!"

"….Ugh…."

"Semantics and fabrications! CHIVALRY WAS ALWAYS DEAD! ILLUMINATI CONFIRMED! WE'VE ALL, BEEN LIED TOO!"

"….I am begging you, to stop talking."

"-THE PROLETARIAT WERE ALWAYS RIGHT! DOWN WITH THE REDS!"

"….Pretty certain the 'Proletariat' was a Communist thing… Or, I suppose Russian in general."

"-Ha! Sir, I'll tell ya', that's like trying to argue the difference between solid shit and diarrhea!"

"That's just disgusting."

"Exactly! They're both fucked up! AND THEY BOTH SMELL LIKE HELL! HA-! Ha ha! I rhymed! Score ONE, for Democracy!"

"…Have you ever met a Russian? Someone from Russia?"

"Nope!"

"So how do YOU know they all smell like shit? How do you know they're all Communists?"

"….We're in one of THESE moods I see… FUN KILLER!"

"Were all Germans Nazis?"

"…..Fuck off with your… LOGIC…" Hancock spat. "-Logic's for women!"

"That explains a lot." Sanford chuckled. "Bring that up to Nyx, you'd want her opinion on that."

"….Well, I think I WILL. Ha!"

"Your funeral."

"I shoulda' been dead a million times over! STILL KICKIN', YOU FUCKERS! Nobody, can match the masculine badassness of- THE HAN'!"

"You're out of your gourd."

"-I'M WHACKED OUTTA' MY FRIKKIN' MIND! HA!"

"…..Keep it down," Sanford examined some of the bodies of the synths that Laslar had killed in his push for the chamber ahead, through the pill-like doorframe just a few steps away.

Sanford lined himself up on one side of the frame, he glanced at the overall arch, and he noticed that the entire section of wall was… indented, or, rather OUT-dented. Sanford checked his scans again as Hancock levitated beside him.

…..There was only one life signature he was picking up, well, one faint one and one healthy one- but other than that…. And they were both human…

"….Nyx?" Sanford rounded the frame.

"-Oh, for Reagen's SAKE! What happened to squad-tactics, you ape?!" Hancock belted out. "-One day, sir! I'll figure out a way to strap a MIND CONTROL thingie' to your fat head! And I'll- woah…. That's a bit too grim for this G.I…."

"Oh my God." Sanford shook his head. They both stared across the chamber that was carpeted with bodies, all of the scientists that the Institute relied on to continue surviving. There were… Tens of them.

Dead synths, dead scientists…. And some of those synths looked…. Odd….

"You ever seen anything like THAT?" Sanford nodded to one of the destroyed platforms as he carefully maneuvered through the corpses, with Hancock levitating over them.

"...Not at all, sir."

"-Oh no." Sanford and his robot eventually rounded the smashed and shot-up rows of computer monitors, to a set of pods in the back of the chamber- one was smashed open at the glass, and there was a large puddle of fluid at its wheeled base and all across the floor.

Sanford saw a bunch of bodies had been sifted and tossed aside at the epicenter of this liquid burst- he saw thinned crevices torn into the tile of the floor from what looked like claws, or nails.

…..He glanced out across the chamber, and he saw a single dead Enclave soldier meshed in with the bodies towards the side of the room, something he hadn't seen before.

….Maybe she had escaped.

She had to of.

There was no body, no-

"I'm confident ole' Scale-Mail had a fit and got out!" Hancock reassured him. "-She wouldn't just CROAK like that, sir! Even if she is a fuckin' mutated frog and all…"

"…Yeah… Y-Yeah, you know, you're right…. You're right." Sanford shivered out a breath. "…This wouldn't have happened if I wasn't such an idiot."

"You know what they say, sir, everyone has their moments where they're a dirtbag! I should know! I've MASTERED, the art of being a dirtbag! And-… What? WHAT?! Don't just LOOK at me like that, you slack-jawed bitch!"

Sanford was just glaring at him.

"-…It seems we were seeking the same thing, after all, stranger…"

 ** _chkn-_**

 ** _tzzzz…_** Sanford primed his rifle, Hancock chambered a link to his flamethrower- both leveled their weapons with the shadowy form of an older man, slowly, standing from a crouch behind the shattered tank of the apparently not-present, Deathclaw.

Sanford narrowed his eyes and jabbed the gun he was holding.

"-Back up. Who the hell are you?"

"-YOU! You dildo-hoarding, ear-lickin' whore bag! I'll make an incision in your FACE!" Hancock screamed, revving his buzzsaw. "-FOR SCIENCE! HA-HA!"

"-STOP." Sanford barked, making the Director jump out of his fearful recline. Hancock grumbled and lowered his arm. "Who. Are. You?"

"…D-D-Director O-Ordy, of the Secession, of the Institute, Wastelander." Ordy stuttered, smiling. "-O-Or what used to BE the Secession…."

"Why did you take my Deathclaw, Director?"

"-She's YOURS now, huh?" Hancock chuckled. "-CALLED IT!"

"…..Just ignore him," Sanford rolled his eyes.

"FUCKER!"

"-Answer me."

Ordy bunched his fists together over his gut.

"-W-We needed a specimen, and, she was a prime one-"

"What did you need a specimen for? A DEATHCLAW, of all things?"

"…..It doesn't matter now-"

"I didn't ask if it mattered, I asked why you did it." Sanford interjected coldly.

"…..It was for a weapons project, a soldier, there," Ordy tossed his arms, eyes getting big with anger. "-There I SAID it, does that extra reason to kill me suit you? Yes? Maybe?"

"Shut your fucking mouth." Sanford stepped closer, the Power Armor enshadowing the now reclining, shorter form of the Director. "-What were you going to do to her?"

"…...Take tissue samples, blood samples, study behavior patterns… It didn't require her dying."

"I don't believe you."

"I suppose that's your choice, Wastelander. I-I mean, I have nothing to hold in your way," Ordy swept an arm across the chamber. "-M-My whole staff is dead, my facility is in tatters, you've almost single-handedly wiped out my synthetic forces. What more can you do to me?"

"I can kill you."

"If THAT, is what you must do, than DO IT." Ordy suddenly barked. "-I've nothing left anyhow! Go on then! SHOOT ME! Please! End my life! Take it from me! I DON'T WANT IT ANYMORE! Everything else was taken from me! My home, my way of living, my passion, my damned wife-! It's all gone from me, good sir! So go ahead! SHOOT ME!"

"…..You had a wife, huh?"

"-W-What-?! Why-….. I… AGH," Ordy stomped his shoe. "…..Long time ago…. She sent those Gen-X's…"

The Director pointed at the spindly synthetics that lye dead about the floor with all the scientists.

"…She's crossing the tunnel, you know, the Division's coming… So you might as well make it easier for her and kill me before her own team makes her do it…"

"….Who's the Division?" Sanford blinked.

"…The other facility, underneath Charles River," Ordy sighed. "-Y-You aren't aware of what's been happening down here, outsider, it's all…. Wrong…"

"The Institute split?"

"We've been split, kid."

"You're group was the Secession?"

"Mmhm."

"Your own wife, is the Division? A-And she wants to kill you?"

"….I don't know if she… WANTS to…" Ordy shifted on his feet. "….But if she wants complete unification of the science teams, than she must."

"-L-Look, I don't have time for this," Sanford shook his head. "-Where's my God damned Deathclaw?"

"…She got out of the pod," Ordy gestured for the smashed glass behind him. "I figured she'd meet with you and your…. ROBOT… Outside."

"-The greatest victory is scarring your enemies for life!" Hancock laughed. "-TOUCH MY TENDERS AGAIN, YOU PEDOPHILIAC OLD FART, AND I'LL HACK OFF YOUR MUSTACHE AND MAKE YOU SNUFF IT UP YOUR FAT, TROLL-ISH NOSE!"

"…Calm down." Sanford bowed his head, laughing quietly. "Where did I find you, again?"

"-Ah, I don't remember," Hancock waved a buzzsaw. "-I probably fell off the back of a hardware truck and popped up and screamed- SANFORD! –And all that shit…"

"Make it a potato truck, and your description's pretty spot on."

"Go chug anti-freeze!"

"-W-Wait there's that name again," Ordy held his arms up. "-W-Where do you both know a 'Sanford'?"

"…..I'm, Sanford." Sanford held his gauntlet to his chest.

"-Yeah! What the manic ape said!" Hancock jabbed his buzzsaw at his friend. "-San' of the FORD'! Right here!"

"….Sanford, huh." Ordy smiled. "I haven't heard that name in a very, very long time."

"Really." Sanford shrugged, disinterested. "Figure that, old man."

"…W-Well, it's funny, you see, I'm-"

 ** _beepbeep_**

 ** _beepbeep_**

-"….Oh my… I-I need to-"

"-Don't you fuckin' move." Sanford jabbed his gun up when the Director angled his chin over the X-01's flank.

"-No-no, you don't understand, it's the Division! T-They're coming through the tunnel! T-That's our scanner system making that noise! I have to seal the bulkhead!"

"I thought you weren't concerned if they shot you, or not?" Sanford grumbled.

"…I…. I do not wish to die."

"-I'm sure all the innocent people your synths murdered over the years," Sanford leant down and sneered beneath his helmet. "-Would've said the same fuckin' thing."

There was a long pause, and Ordy was left caught there, beneath the towering man and his robot.

"….Let's go, Han'. Let's find our Deathclaw."

"RIGHT behind you, sir! See ya' in hell, Gray-and-Decrepit!"

"-You're right!" Ordy called after the two heroes as they turned away. "-You are RIGHT! I deserve to be dead, after all the things I didn't stop and erase from the Institute's practices! YOU, ARE, RIGHT! But for the sake of my wife! I can't let her have to take on that choice!"

"As far as I'm concerned, I don't really care." Sanford snorted. "Good talk. Have a nice fucking day while I clean up the mess, you exacerbated."

"-I can't do this to Linda!"

"…..Who?"

"-T-That's her name!" Ordy sobbed. "-She is the most wonderful woman in the world, in MY world! And I have done nothing but push her away my entire life! And I cannot bear to have it all end with THIS! I-I don't even know what she'll do-! S-She might refuse! And her team will kill HER! And I simply- I simply CAN'T!"

"…..Sanford, I'm getting some real screwy ju-ju' vibes here!" Hancock commented. "-I don't like it, sir!"

"Why should I HELP you, after I had to fight my way through a facility, filled with your shit-head robot army, AND, after I had to fight Enclave soldiers that you opened the door for? Reason that for me, Ordy."

"...There is no reason... L-Look around us... My team's dead, my synths are gone, my second in line betrayed me and so did Laslar Seduun." Ordy listed coldly. "I knew from the moment we authorized XM-988 to speak to that Superintendent, that there was such a risk... A final, risk."

"Last I checked, you kidnapped MY team," Sanford stated. "Now you want me to prevent your own woman from shooting you upside the head?"

"...Please," Ordy held his hands out, and backed off when Hancock aimed his flamethrower's nozzle. "...I-I'll do anything."

Sanford for a moment was caught in the developing silence. This was absolutely insane.

Help the Director? Of the same group that had been trying to kill him for days? It was illogical.

It was-

"-M-Maybe I can track your Deathclaw's signal!" Ordy suggested with a developing, desparate smile. "-P-Please! I-I can-! I can teleport you, TO her! I know! I know!"

"How would that work?" Sanford raised a brow.

"-T-There's a tag," Ordy pointed at his hip. "We tag everything we captur- I mean- intern-! I MEAN-"

"I get it." Sanford cut him off."You're saying you can locate this tag, and zap me to it?"

"Yes! Yes, Sanford, I promise you! I can most certainly do that!"

"Prove it."

"...W-What...? H-How can I just, up and PROVE something like that, Sanford?!" Ordy shouted. "-Ask your model there! We TRIED to tag him before he cut off my man's arm!"

"-HA! He even screamed like a girl!" Hancock cackled. "-DEMOCRACY DISCO! Uunce' uunce' uunce'..."

Sanford observed for a second as the bounced up and down in the air beside him, silently, and shook his head.

"…...You know, Ordy, my mother was named Linda."

"…..F-Fancy that," Ordy wiped at his eyes. "-S-Sanford, I don't know who you are, what your life is like up there, on the surface, but… I plead with you… Y-You've beaten the Secession, you've beaten ME… Linda and the Division have been cut off from the world since its formation… She's innocent…. I-I can't let her do this to herself… To her team, too."

"…If I do this…" Sanford got real close again. "-Not only are you going to help me find my Deathclaw, but when I come back, I am liquidating every single piece of technology, in this facility, do you understand?"

"…I….."

"-C'mon Hancock-"

"-F-Fine! F-Fine! It-it's all… TAINTED…. Anyway…" Ordy shuddered. "…I'll give up my work for her…. I'll give it all up."

"Good."

"-W-We need to go back to the lift. She'll come in through the center bulkhead of the ground plaza floor, I need to lock it…"

"How?"

"There's a terminal in the third strut tower of the main chamber, five floors up, I'll activate the mag-locks to prevent her from getting in."

"And what does this do?"

"I'll get on a communications channel with her, I'll tell her what's happened…."

"And if she stops?"

"….I'll exile myself from the grounds, and you can do what you will with the facility and everything in it… Linda won't want it without its staff and Gen-2 synths…"

"….You realize I'll burn everything in here, right?" Sanford muttered.

"….I do. But I love this woman, Sanford."

"Is she thinking the same way as you?"

"I never doubted our alike minds a single day in my life, I simply… needlessly resisted it."

"….Alright, fine. Fine," Sanford gestured for the doorway down ahead. "..You lead. If something even remotely cute happens, I put a bolt in your head."

"Agreed."

-"RIGHT! Now, MARCH! Scumbag!" Hancock flew up and behind the Director, and punted his buzzsaw into his back, jerking the old man forwards. "-No breaks! No snacks! NO STOPPING FOR THE PLAYGROUNDS! We move for Siberia!"

"….A control room, Han'." Sanford grinned.

"-SAME DIFFERENCE! March!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Sanford consistently checked the scans of his helmet's systems displaying the majority of the facility's internals- each time, he only came back with a few signals, some scattered synths, one or two human sigs'... There was a collection of Mutant sigs' in one chamber...

As Sanford and Hancock escorted their new captive, the once esteemed, now fallen Director of the Secession- Ordy -the young man found his eyes glued to this small patch of life towards the rear chambers of the labyrinth.

"...Ordy," Sanford nodded at the Director before them. "-Are these Super Mutants, I'm seeing?"

"...P-Part of the FEV and GARGANT programs, indeed..." Ordy sighed, to fearful to chance a glance over his shoulder, to avoid Hancock prodding him with his buzzsaw again.

"You're the reason the Mutants have been tearing up Boston, aren't you?"

"...I wasn't Director during the first civil wars..." Ordy shook his head. "Mutants escaped the facility multiple times beforehand."

"But you still restarted the program?"

"..."

"...My God, you- I can't- FINE, what's the GARGANT?"

"...GARGANT's an old United States military biological weapons platform that was to be used on China..."

"During Operation Dark Fox, I know."

"...Interesting, a-a fellow scholar?"

"I don't know."

"-T-Tell me, Sanford, where do you come from?"

"Nowhere. Keep walking."

-Interesting, wasn't he in this reversed role with the Deathclaw he was now trying to save, a month ago?

"...I see..." Ordy carefully stepped through the mountains of dead synths down the main, pylon-lined passage that Sanford and Laslar had had their duel in- Sanford wondered what had happened to the Superintendent in that moment, he didn't see a body anywhere.

"...How did you win a Deathclaw's loyalty?"

"-Asked from the guy who wanted to use her DNA to make monster soldiers? Fat chance, old man, fuck off and keep walking."

"...Very well..."

"-Hey! Sir! Picking something up!" Hancock interjected. "-THAT-A' WAY!"

"What is it?"

 ** _CKL-scchhmmms..._** -Suddenly, a big, burly, scabby wad of fur and muscle barreled out from behind a pillar a few feet into the center of the floor at the end of the passageway- it had a long head, with two tiny, fuzzy ears, and lifeless, gray eyes that got larger as they focused on the trio down the way.

Sanford stopped short, and Hancock did similar- Ordy was quaking inbetween the two of them, and he slowly started to back up.

"-L-Larry...?" He stuttered.

"-Larry? You named that thing?" Sanford cringed.

"-NO! NOT LARRY! WE'RE ALL DOOMED!" Hancock screamed at the top of his amplifiers, leaning forwards, before reclining and looking at Sanford. "-Who's Larry, again?"

"Your CELL mate..." Ordy reminded through grit teeth.

"-OH! That Larry! The one that stunk of copious feces and self-indigestion! I know that Larry! HEY! Lar-bear! FUCK YOURSELF!" The robot cried out.

"Oh, Han'..." Sanford raised his rifle.

"-Ya'll just love me, I know! INTO BATTLE!" Hancock primed his plasma gun.

The Yao Guai bear opened its flabby jaws and howled at them, its raspy cry echoing down the passageway- the bear thundered the floor with a quadruped sprint towards the two men and the robot.

Ordy gripped the sides of his head and cried out in fear- Sanford AND Hancock, both laughed at him, waited for the bear to step over a few of the corpses on the fringe of the mess they both had made during the fight with Laslar.

"Think he's had enough?" Sanford chuckled.

"-Affirmative! Let's kill it, for good' ole' times' sake!"

"I'm game."

"-HA! Haha! GAME-! Like hunting! You get the joke, sir-?! You know, like... Hunting, and... Game... And... I wish damnation on your soul."

 ** _PMPMPMPMPMPM_**

 ** _CLKCLKCLKCLK_**

-Twin cones of green and crimson fire lashed out, clipped into the Yao Guai's head, shoulders and chest- the beast drawled and whined, blood flecked out, spattered across the floor, a chunk of its forehead boiled away and one of its eyes imploded.

The mutated bear tripped over its front claws, the ground thudded, and it created a small divergence of avalanching bodies whilst the creature slid on its on face and shoulder across the floor the rest of the distance towards its intended victims.

 ** _sssssssSSSHHHHM-!_** -The body slumped to a halt right at Sanford's and Ordy's feet- and Sanford laughed whilst the Director jumped back, eyes wide, mouth agape, staring at the dead beast.

"...Piece of cake." Sanford admonished, switching coils on his gun.

"That was pathetic!" Hancock snapped, jabbing a meaty flank with his buzzsaw. "Can we cook him?!"

"No."

"-Come-ON! You're a fun-sucker!"

"Let's go, Director."

As the three of them bypassed the corpse of the bear, Ordy still couldn't take his eyes off of it- he pointed at the hip of the creature, to a small white chip tagged onto its fur, childishly, and meekly.

"...T-There's... The... The chip, Sanford... That's it..."

"I see it. Now let's go."

"...O-Okay..."

-They retraced much of the way that Ordy had shown Laslar through- and throughout the whole way, through the halls, the bulkheads, passing by chambers... There was not a soul, or a synth even, to be seen.

They eventually passed through the Synthetic Factoy that Laslar had gone through- and the whole time, Hancock made derogatory comments revolving around anorexia to the Gen-1 synths that dumbly passed the party, continuing their work, despite it being fruitless, and pointless.

Sanford debated shooting them, but he decided that would come in due time. He didn't really have the energy to focus on it.

Through the factory they went, with the Director as stone cold and quiet as ever, much to Sanford's relief- they passed through the little hallway that lead to the elevated walkway connecting the second level of the lift tube to this section of the facility.

Once more, Sanford was standing in the great space of the massive oval chamber that extended so any stories up- the whole time as he and his companions boarded the lift podium, he had his eyes locked to the swaying, green trees that were dotted in the little garden sections down on the first floor.

He thought they were amazing.

Of course, Ordy didn't even blink at them, seeing as he had been around them for so many years... And Hancock didn't give a crap anyway.

"...Where'd you get the trees?" Sanford asked, the lift whining, as the platform took the three of them higher, to ascend to another elevated walkway above the first one.

"We've kept those plants alive since the Great War." Ordy lamented. "...I fear we no longer will be able to after today."

"Sad."

"...It's heartbreaking."

"...Don't you think, what your synths have done throughout Boston, is heartbreaking?"

"I think it was wrong." Ordy shut his eyes, and sighed.

"But not heartbreaking?"

"...One of the most heartbreaking things I have ever partaken in."

"Not THE most?"

"...By far, no."

"...What did you do before you became Director here?" Sanford asked, looking around outside the podium as the lift took them higher and higher.

"I was a soldier."

"For whom?"

"...A-An... An army."

"What kind of army?"

"...Sanford," Ordy sounded like he was going to cry. "-If I can just prevent my wife from getting in, I would most appreciate helping you find your... Deathclaw... That I unrightfully stole from you, so I can carry on with my solitude away from here."

"...Sure."

"...Sanford,"

"Yep."

"...What do you do, up there?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do you do? Are you a mercenary? A soldier? Adventurer?"

"No."

"No?"

"I'm a scavenger."

"...Do pardon me," Ordy chuckled half-heartedly. "-But with everything I've seen of you, I find that awfully hard to believe."

"I don't know what to tell you."

"...You keep referring to the Deathclaw as your friend,"

"-Cause' she is."

"...Could you communicate with her?"

 ** _CSH-cmm_** -The lift jolted to a stop.

Sanford looked around at the elevation they sported- the glass slid open ahead.

"Let's go, Ordy."

"Right, yes."

The walkway up here was identical to the one below- and as Ordy and Hancock made for a small pill-shaped bulkhead at the end of the walk, towards the curved metal of the buttress tower along the great chamber's flank- Sanford gazed up at the tower's sprawling supports to the rounded ceiling, the windows lining a small strip just above the door.

He looked over the side of the walkway- and felt dizzy with the sheer height of the chamber below, the trees looked like they could fit in the palm of his hand.

"...Sanford?" Ordy called over as the bulkhead slid aside.

"...Coming." He glanced around some more and kept trotting.

Inside the tower was a brief lobby, they followed the Director straight ahead for a quick spiral stairwell of chrome metal- it lead to an open, rectangular chamber that sported the strip of aqua-tinted windows overlooking the walkway and gigantic chamber outside.

Beneath the windows were rows of flickering, active, shiny consoles littered with keypads, switches, buttons, readings screens and terminals...

"-These control the main sub-chamber's locking systems and security measures." Ordy explained, leaning over a console in the center- he sat up and glanced out the window, nudging to see the very bottom plaza below, he gazed at the center wheel bulkhead down there.

"...See that door, right there?" He pointed. "-Linda will have to break through that. She won't try another infiltration attack if the first one failed so spectacularly."

"Laslar did that?" Sanford looked over the Director's shoulder.

"Indeed he did." Ordy clicked a few keys. "-She's closer than I originally saw."

"How close? What does she have with her?"

"She's probably in her armor, I see maybe thirty Gen-X's moving down the tunnel with her."

"What if they break through the door?"

"If I can lock it, they won't be able to."

"You think this- 'Linda' -will just turn around if she can't get through the bulkhead?"

"...I-I'm... Going to try and talk to her..."

"...This plan is bullshit." Sanford shook his head. "We should wreck her synths and try talking to her then."

"-THAT'S the spirit, sir!" Hancock cheered. "I trained ya' well, I did! BREAK THEIR BALLS! ...Then negotiate!"

"-I'm trying to prevent further combat scenarios," Ordy clicked away at the console madly. "-I-If I can just override these passcodes Valerie put on here..."

"-Valerie?"

"My protege," Ordy huffed. "She's the one who turned the synths on you AND Laslar."

"Why's she pissed at you?"

"...Sanford, the only way you could've hacked our teleportation matrix, is if you found a machine inside the CIT Great Dome," Ordy paused. "-We could never remove it because it would... How to explain... Basically, seeing as Gengis routed it directly to the material of the matrix, it would've torn a hole in... The fabric of, reality? I suppose? Nothing good could come of it."

"...You're saying if you tried to just rip that thing out, it would make a black hole?"

"...A-A small one, maybe..." Ordy shrugged whilst typing.

"How do you know about Gengis?"

"He was Valerie's husband. See the connection?"

"...Well you set yourself up for that one, Ordy."

"No disagreements here."

"-Hey! Sir," Hancock gazed out one of the nearby windows to the plaza and trees. "-Didn't you have a tree just like that growing over your back yard?"

"...No, mine was an oak. -And how do you know, man? You've never seen a tree like THAT before I don't think..."

"-FINE! I wasn't interesed anyway! Go burn, monkey-man!"

"...Ordy?" Sanford reclined from the Director.

Ordy had stopped typing. He was looking at Sanford very intently.

"...D-Did you say... An Oak tree?" He asked slowly.

"...Yeah? Why?"

"...W-Was it, h-hanging over the fence, slightly? A-And the seed pods would always gather on just that- that one part of the lawn?"

"...How do you...?"

"...That... Was..." Ordy stood from the console, stepped towards Sanford. "...That was... Approximately... Two-hundred years ago..."

"...Who the hell ARE you?" Sanford looked the Director up and down. "...Answer me right now, WHO, are you?"

"...My God... Oh my God..."

 ** _Bmmmk!_**

-Echoing across the chamber, the wheel-sealed bulkhead down below suddenly thudded, and bulged at the very hinges.

Sanford was torn from looking at Ordy- he glanced out the windows over the consoles- saw steam building by the door down in the plaza below.

"-SHIT." He cursed. "-Ordy-! Lock the door! What are you doing?!"

"...Oh my God..." Ordy was just lost, raising his hands for Sanford's helmet. Sanford's eye twitched, he slapped away Ordy's arms, gripped him by the scruff of his shirt and coat, and tugged him close to the face of his helmet.

"-ORDY!" Sanford screamed in his face.

Ordy didn't even blink. Tears were running down his face.

"-USELESS!" Sanford tossed the old man back, where he stumbled onto and gripped the chin of the console for support. "-C'mon', Hancock, one more fight, and then we're out of here."

"-...B-But, sir, maybe we should-?"

"-NOW. C'mon! Let's kick their asses!" Sanford shoved out of the chamber, down the spiral stairs.

Hancock paused briefly before following him- his thruster igniting, zapping the robot away in the blink of an eye.

Director Ordy quivered like there was some invisible earthquake racking only his body and nothing else- he teared profusely, his jaw hung open, and he gradually started to curl up on himself in heaving sobs.

The old man slid to the floor of the chamber, started bawling, gripping his gray hair, shutting his eyes, and he just cried and cried.

He knew who this man was.

He knew who he was.

He knew.

He knew.

He just knew.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

The lift took a full minute to reach the ground floor of the great entry chamber- the whole time, Sanford and Hancock were lowered in one crouch, and one depletion of engine power, to the floor of the podium on the opposite side of where the bulkhead below was facing them.

If whatever was breaking through it saw them in the ALL GLASS lift, it probably wouldn't be good. Sanford was just hoping the thing would move faster the whole time.

"...Sir? What happened back there?" Hancock asked next to him.

"Nothing happened." Sanford snapped readily. "Guy's out of his mind. Happens when you live underground and kill people, like him."

"...Sir..."

"-WHAT?" Sanford barked. "-I told you, he's a mal-fuckin' freak! And he's a murderer! I'll leave him here to rot!"

"...Sir, just to add in on that- if you really wanted him dead for the things he's done, you would've shot him! There and then!"

"...I should've..."

"-But that's the screwy part! You CAN'T!"

"...Because..."

"Because even I know who he actually is!"

"...Who he WAS..."

"-But Sanford! I mean- Holy Skunks Whacking under the Smoker-! You've been searching for twelve damned years! TWELVE! I've reset my filter core almost a hundred times during all that!"

"...I... I can't..."

"What?"

"I refuse to accept it."

"-Well-?! WHAT?! You can't refuse facts, Sanny'!"

"-There are no facts..."

"-I'm not sure I believe it myself!"

"...I... I don't know..."

"-Sir, not to increase the stress, even though me asking WILL,"

"...Yep?..."

"-What if you have to shoot her, sir?"

"..."

 ** _CHK-csmmm_**

 ** _skl_** -The glass slid aside, and Sanford slowly stood up, he and Hancock's gazes locked to the steaming, thudding, great bulkhead across the plaza ahead of them.

Sanford trotted out of the elevator podium, Hancock zipped over to his side, and the two heroes walced out into the plaza's flank, and they stood defiantly before the smoke-coughing door, which was rumbling, and kicking sparks with each impact.

 ** _bmmmm!_**

 ** _bmm!_**

 ** _bm-bm!_**

 ** _bmmm!_**

Sanford checked his scans.

On the other side of this door, those numbers the Director, or, Ordy, or... Whoever that... THING on the upper floors was, had pulled out of his ass- had now skyrocketed to tens, approaching sixty.

Hancock saw it too, but he was too busy priming his weapons, chambering missiles, testing the flame-licking nozzle of his thrower to pay any mind to it.

Sanford looked over at his mechanical friend that he come to break out, and had found him breaking out for himself anyway- and he leaned over and cuffed him with the elbow of his gauntlet.

Hancock stopped what he was doing and looked up at him with all three ocu-lenses.

"Yessir?"

"...You know something,"

"What's that, gorrila-man?"

"I think it is really, really, fuckin' cool, that you'll just stand here and... and fight with me, against all these odds."

"-Yeah, well, I'm just here for the glory!" Hancock dismissed with a wave of his saw. "Ya' have a knack for finding lots-a' shit to kill! Gotta' get a piece of that! HA!"

"Hancock,"

"WHAT?! Don't go all MELO-DRAMA on me, you Slapped-Grandpa!"

"You're a good friend."

"...Bah, humbug."

"If we die,"

"-IMPOSSIBLE-! But sure, I'll humor some morbid considerations!"

"-Just know, that going through all that hell of the wasteland with ya', it was something I would never give up for anything."

"-Best years- but also the most horrible years, kind of shit?"

"Exactly."

"I hear ya', Sanford, I hear ya'."

 ** _bmm!_**

 ** _bmmmm!_**

 ** _bmmmmm!_**

-The door splintered, metal shrieked, they both flinched when the wheel lock screamed and hung loosely off the center of the entry, black smoke was filtering from the hinges.

"Let's kick ass, buddy." Sanford grinned, holding his dual means of war in each gauntlet- the cutlass flickered to life.

"-YEAH-HA! Baby! GET SOME, COMMIE' FUCKERS!"

-Up above on the third level walkway, the stumbling form of Director Ordy stood idle at the top of the path, he looked down at the small ant-like forms of Sanford and Hancock.

The door tore more, sparks and an arm of flame.

-"SANFORD! NO!" Ordy cried down to them.

 ** _bmmmCRRRSSKKKKkk!_**

The door split open, flew off its hinges, and skittered away a flaming, broiling mess of illuminating amber and blackened soot- Sanford and Hancock shifted over even though the door was not an active threat to them.

No sooner did the entryway tear off, did five humanoid figures jump through the soot-filled archway.

Gen-2 synths, the bullet shields.

The plaza erupted in gunfire, laser bolts flickering all over the place- Sanford and Hancock chopped down synth after synth as they filed in in pairs, trios, quads- and their bodies kept stacking with each corpse that flopped or tossed down.

Arms, heads, legs were blown off- torsos imploded, chests were gouged ajar- sparks and electronic fragments flew everywhere.

Sanford just kept his gun leveled- he ignored a few blasts that glanced his suit, and he just kept firing in controlled bursts- Hancock loosed a single warhead, that careened over the plaza in a trail of soot, and imploded in the frame of the destroyed door, tearing asunder six synths and all the bodies they were climbing over.

As more Gen-2's clawed and ruthlessly tumbled over their fallen kin- lithe shapes flooded from not just the bottom of the frame, but the sides, and the top, in the tens- as Gen-X synths leapt out from the fiery tunnel beyond and started crawling all over the ceiling, the walls, in the trees, on the ground, and there were TENS of them, tens upon tens, upon tens.

Sanford and Hancock found themselves shooting up, to the sides, ducking and weaving as bodies hurled passed them from synths shot dead mid-leap. Sanford slashed, impaled, swiped, and Hancock ran his buzzsaw to eat through torsos and heads.

Suddenly, the plaza was not flashing with a gunfight, it was screaming and moving all its own with a great melee brawl as the Gen-X synths rushed and swarmed over the man and his robot.

Sanford decapitated thin heads, cut open torsos, screamed as he ran synths through to the hilt, and kicked or kneed them free of his blade. Hancock let his saw eat through individuals at one time, his flamethrower set some of them alight, where they tossed and convulsed on the ground as humanoid torches.

Hancock took an Ion shot in the back, and when he turned around and killed a whole cluster of synths with another warhead- it looked like a popping bubble made of bodies for just how many corpses clogged the explosive bloom in the middle of the plaza.

Sanford lost his gun after a few minutes- shots bounced off his armor, his head was tossed aside a few times with glancing hits- he tore open a synth's gut with his bare hand, stuffed a Pulse grenade into the sparking mess, kicked the body away, and watched another plumage of cadavers avalanche under a blue, staticy sphere of death.

They kept fighting, and fighting, and fighting- there were so many dead synths that the plaza looked black.

Back to back, Sanford and Hancock hacked away at anything that moved- Sanford head-butted, tore with his fingers, sliced with his sword. It was complete bedlam.

The wave just never stopped.

"-LINDA'!" -Came a shout, faintly, over all the noise and chaos.

The lift finished clunking still in the glass pod behind the two heroes whilst they withstood the tide- Director Ordy rushed out, swinging his arms repeatedly.

"-LINDA! STOP! IT'S HIM! YOU CAN'T KILL HIM! LINDA! STOP!"

Sanford hacked and hacked and hacked.

"-rrrrRRRAAGGH!" - ** _CHSSKS! ZZZzzzzzz..._**

Sanford suddenly was graced with stillness.

A few more pieces of metal tumbled, the body he had impaled slid off his cutlass, and folded into the pile with a few hollow clanks.

There was now... Nothing. Silence. Quiet.

Sanford stood straight, he looked across the plaza, filled with an atrocious amount of dead synths, nearing or just past a hundred. There were bodies in varying levels of piling, sparking, some still twitching, belching smoke.

Sanford panted, standing in the epicenter with his robot, who hovered next to him, and appeared just as shocked to the sudden halt of offensive.

Like demigods, the two partners had staved off the largest melee fight they had ever participated in, in their lives.

-And then, the woman emerged from the blackened, sooty mess of the tunnel way's smashed, and broken doorframe.

She was flanked by a pair of Gen-2 synths, she was clad in a blackened jumpsuit that hugged a thin form, with thin arms, healthy thighs, ball-like shoulder joints- her head was concealed beneath a porcelain-like synthetic helmet, there were thin pauldrons of white on her upper arms, and hugging, spider-like gauntlets over the outward faces of her forearms.

A combat harnass wrapped over her waist and hips, two plates layered each side of her thighs, and ankle extensions covered her knees. A holo-blade was projected from a thin, black pillar protruding from a circular, shield-like port that covered her entire right forearm, and she gripped an Institute standard Laser pistol in the other hand, whose fingers were electronic, and prosthetic.

Sanford, Hancock, and now, Ordy, as he stepped beside Sanford- watched the approach of this woman, as her boots echoed throughout the gigantic chamber, she kicked through the corpses of her synths.

"...Sanford... It's good to see you after so long, or, I hear they call you- 'Ordy' -now, hm?" Linda snickered inside her helmet. "-Good to see some traits die hard. Where's your team, HONEY?" -She mocked.

"...T-They're dead..." Ordy croaked, his face red, puffy. "...W-What about yours, dear?"

"Dead."

"How?"

"Had my own internal conflict not too long ago, didn't see eye to eye..." Linda looked at Sanford, and Hancock. "-You brought outsiders to defend you? A ragtag army? Low."

"-HEY! Nobody calls me 'Ragtag'- you thin-mint BITCH!" Hancock barked.

"Shut up." Sanford panted. "-Y-Your name's... Sanford..." He looked over at Ordy.

Ordy suddenly smiled up at him, and then he smiled at Linda, who looked taken aback.

"-What's so FUNNY, Sanford?" She snapped.

"...H-HIM..." Ordy pointed at the X-01 suited man. "-H-He's funny..."

"Who is he? Common rabble with a nice toy?"

"...L-Linda... H-His name's... SANFORD... His name's Sanford TOBS... I... I... L-Look at him, L-Linda, LOOK at him..."

Sanford looked between the two Directors.

He looked out across all the bodies, and when he turned back to them- Linda had her helmet off, and she dropped it, and it clattered among all the bodies and rolled away.

There was a frail face underneath all that wargear- her face, wrinkled, her hair, still long and curly, but now grayed heavily- she blinked blue eyes at Sanford, and her mouth was shut tightly, her lips quivering.

"...T-Take off that helmet..." She asked lowly, almost whispering. "-W-Whoever you are, take that helmet off."

Sanford looked between them again.

He looked at Hancock, who, for once, was too... INTO the moment, he guessed, to interrupt with further nonsense.

Sanford huffed his shoulders, his mind so overloaded that he couldn't even fully comprehend what was happening to him at his moment.

Quivering, and shaking, like he was cold- through all the exhaustion, the anger, the mourning, the adrenaline- Sanford Tobs put his weapons on his hips, and he reached up, tentatively working the helmet to slide it off his head.

 ** _csk-sssssssss..._** -After the hiss of decoupling- he lowered the headgear by his side, cradled it one-armed, and turned to gaze at the Directors back and forth, back and forth, unblinking, mouth an unreadable line.

Ordy brought up his hand to chew at his knuckles.

Linda almost tripped over all the debris around her as she stumbled over, the hand not taken by the shield-like barrier over her left arm reaching up, shaking.

Sanford blinked at her, and the suit creaked as he lowered himself a bit, to her level, he shut his eyes when he felt a cold, icy palm caress and rub onto the side of his cheek. Linda was turning red as a beat, she was crying.

Ordy was crying.

Sanford felt like crying, but he did not.

"...Mom..." He nodded at Linda. He glanced over at Ordy, who was about to start bawling again. "-...Dad."

...So was this world worth saving?

He didn't know anymore.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	62. Chapter 61

**CHAPTER 61**

 **Did it really all lead to that?**

* * *

Plagued with nightmares of a nuclear burst of fire the size of a whole state, pestered and harassed by internal debate on what he was, what everything around him was, and how it all worked- Sanford had found liberation in Nyx, and the nightmares stopped.

Attacked on all sides by ravenous monsters, evil groups of pillaging people, thieves and murderers - Sanford had found liberation with combat training, and use of skillfully made weapons by his own hand.

Loneliness with a touch of insanity? He found Hancock.

Having lost his only family all these years? Well, that was still a bit of Hancock's department of fixing.

All of those things combined, and all the nonsense, all the messed up garbage that had clogged his life to the bursting point? There really wasn't a specific thing that Sanford had found to cope with that.

Ever since he had stumbled out of that Vault, frigid cold, bleeding from tens of insect bites, holding whatever blunt object he had picked up to defend himself, his shivering hand raised over his eyes whilst the lift took him back to the surface... Sanford had always been searching.

While he survived out there, gathering resources, finding food, water, building his little fortified bailey at the Red Rocket station- the thought of his family was always in the back of his mind, kind of like a secondary priority, something he'd keep an eye out for.

Sanford didn't hold it in essentials for himself because the likelihood of his parents actually being alive at that point, was... slim, at best. VERY slim.

What were the chances?

He lived out the rest of his young adult life in the ruins of Boston, establishing himself, his name, his crafts and his talents for something that he technically didn't even know if he held passion in- and that whole time, he had his father's watch, his mother's jewelry, as the only momentos of their memory, and he wondered what would happen if he found them.

Well, now, guess what? Twelve years, give or take, and he HAD found them.

Every day he asked the same question- 'What would my parents say about me? What would they think?'

-It just happened to turn out, that his parents were asking the same thing about him, even though, they believed he had been dead. It just happened to turn out, that his parents didn't even know what to say to him in the first place.

And it just happened to turn out, that Sanford didn't know what to say either.

Like clockwork, his undying question had been answered-

-And the answer was that nobody knew.

Which meant that theoretically, nothing had been solved.

His mother didn't know, his father didn't know, and he HADN'T known since he had gotten out of that damned Vault.

Nobody freaking knew.

Twelve years to just end up with the same shit, times three.

Nobody knew.

Sanford had taken to slumping against the glass of the lift shaft down there in the plaza, falling onto his backside, and leaning back inside his suit in exhaustion. He had his eyes locked to the ceiling up there, just past the rim of the second-story walkway up there, connecting the lift shaft to the middle story of the tower behind him.

His eyes were so heavy that eventually he stopped tracing lines on the metal up there, and he just shut them, and wallowed in the swimming blackness of his internal lids. He could feel their eyes on him, all four of them, glued to his exposed face- the ones they belonged too still, and silent.

Sanford's chest protruded and settled in a great sigh- he opened his eyes and angled them as far down as his leant-back head would allow- he saw his mother standing in the corpses of all of her synths, still in her combat harness, the holo-blade from her wrist shield absent, her helmet still lost in the mounds of dead.

She was still crimson all over her face, her eyes were puffy, her nose was runny- a big frown was shown over her features, and she was so congested that he could hear her breathing through her nostrils from where he was.

Sanford looked upon this woman that he had not seen in almost a decade of becoming what he was now- because if it wasn't for this fight, for this encounter, his parents might not have even recognized who he was.

His eyes trailed around her face, and gradually, they lowered past her hip to the bionic hand that replaced everything from the central forearm up- he looked at her chrome fingers, sectioned in pill-shaped pieces connected by flexable circuitry of black and silver.

Sanford shut his eyes and muttered to her- "-...What happened to your hand, ma'?"

Linda broke her gaze from him and looked down at her hand- she raised it and flexed the fingers, where they whined and gave off tiny whirs of a motor.

"...I lost it a long time ago..." She answered. "...-Industrial accident."

"...You never told me." Ordy muttered through his hand as he bit his knuckle, eyes still on their son, down on the floor- he stood among all the wrecked Gen-X's just like Linda, keeping this painful distance from Sanford.

"-We were at war." Linda snapped. "Should I have sent a report whenever I took a shit, too?"

"...Damn it, Linda-"

"-Hey," Sanford interrupted both raising voices, with a meer grunt towards the two of them- he raised his gauntlet tiredly from the ground, and it was as if the Mesiah had come down and told his parents to be silent and listen.

Linda and Ordy looked down at him immediately- forgetting everything, their developing fight, each other, the whole facility around them.

"...You know, I wandered around for a decade wondering where the two of you were..." Sanford sighed, shutting his eyes again, letting his gauntlet slack onto the tile by his hip. "...Eleven, twelve years, I don't fuckin' know... I would really appreciate it if, you know, you didn't take the first opportunity to start going at each other like a couple of fuckin' dogs... Seeing as, you know, you had a long time to do that with and without me..."

"-S-Sanford," Ordy took his hands away from his mouth- the left's knuckles were bleeding from his teeth's work. "-I-I'm sorry, we'll stop, I'LL stop, I'll-"

"-Dad,"

"-Y-Yes? Yes, my son? My son."

"...Shut the fuck up and give me a minute."

"...O-Okay."

"-Oh Sanford..." His mother gasped for the hundredth time.

Sanford whipped his eyes open, and growled at her.

"-You too."

-Linda reclined with more tears broiling in her eyes.

Sanford let himself settle into his slump again- too exhausted, too tired, too drained, to even comprehend what he was emotionally feeling right now. He didn't understand if he was angry, or mourning, or relieved, or... It was a swimming lake of raw emotion, negative emotion.

That pent up feeling, that need for something to be let out? To be released? Sanford had that, but he didn't know what it was that needed to be let out, or how it needed to be let out. So he festered with it.

 ** _ckssh..._** -Metal shifted, he heard his mother crying again, her voice jolting quickly as she fell back, onto her posterior, among all the destroyed synths- she curled up in a ball and started heaving with wracking sobs.

Note, she had done this twice now.

Ordy watched her cry and he started chewing his knuckles again.

Sanford opened one eye, took it all in, and then shut it again.

And so they sat, in the aftermath of the carnage enacted by his own parents.

...Sanford bathed in the quiet, he listened to his mother cry, he listened to his father start to choke up again.

...He didn't even know who these fucking people were anymore. It didn't matter that they had given him life. He didn't even know who they were. Not anymore.

Images of their kitchen- the tiled floor, the wood table that he and dad sat at, talked about the world, talked about each other and their days... Sanford could now remember what his father looked like when he put down the morning paper, and smiled at him.

After so long Sanford could finally remember what his father's face looked like when he was a baby, he could remember what his mother's face looked like, he could remember how happy the two of them always sounded, he remembered dad's sedan as it bucked and hummed while the two of them drove across New England for fun, or for dad's work...

...By God, Sanford had found these things and now he did not want them.

These images were corrupted with what his parents had become, they were corrupted with what HE had become.

That little boy, that innocent little boy who liked reading about the army, talking with his father over the kitchen table about life and how it was going with their family... Had become-

Sanford opened an eye and looked down at his rounded, steel cuirass.

-Had become THIS.

"...-I've failed both of you," Ordy's voice broke him out of the shadowy confines of his head- Sanford parted his eyelids and watched as his father hunched over and started having at it again with the water-works- at this point they were both going to run out of tears. "-I failed my own son."

There were so many questions that Sanford wanted to ask, COULD have asked...

All he got out was-

"-...Why'd you leave me, dad?"

-Ordy sobbed, teetered.

"-The pod- the pod said your vitals had ceased-" His mother choked, still on the floor. "-You were DEAD! You were dead! My little boy- was DEAD!"

"We didn't- we didn't have the-the override codes," Ordy gasped. "-The pod's core power-power source had-had failed- S-Sanford- my Sanford was dead, and I... and I... T-There were... There were bugs..."

"...So you didn't try to bust it open?" Sanford muttered, unfazed.

"-W-We tried..." Linda heaved. "-We tried- and it just- WOULDN'T OPEN!"

"...I... I should have come back..." Ordy shuttered. "-No life signature or not... I should... I should have come back and I DIDN'T, because I- I thought my boy was dead- and that- and that there was nothing left-"

"-And low and behold, ORDY-!" Linda screamed at him. "-We left our- our boy there! WITH BUGS! We left our boy there with man-eating bugs-! SANFORD! Sanford- WE, should be dead! FOR WHAT WE DID! WE SHOULD BE DEAD!"

"-I know that-"

"-YOU'LL NEVER KNOW THAT!"

"-I... KNOW... it... I know it... I... Oh my God..." Ordy couldn't even speak. He choked out a little- 'I'm so sorry'- or at least some amount of comprehensible English so that his son could piece it together.

Sanford looked between his parents, and now he watched, and listened, to both of them cry.

There was his father, once the bravest, brightest person in his life- hunched over, pitiful, lost, bawling in his own anger, mourning, overwhelming sense of betrayal to his own flesh and blood.

There was his mother, once the most passionate woman he had ever known, the most driven, the most oportunistic and industrious, the one who fixed everything and could do anything- on the floor, kicking and crying, apalled at herself, at Ordy.

Sanford cast his glance down to his weapons, particularly his Laser rifle, magnetized to his hip.

He remembered what Hancock had asked him in the lift.

What would he have done if he had to shoot one of them?

He looked at them again. Crying. Writhing around like they were wounded.

"...I still have your old watch." Sanford didn't understand why he put that out there, but he did, and Ordy cried harder. "...I still have your old jewelry, ma'." -His mother went silent, didn't show her face underneath her bionic hand.

Sanford shuddered out a breath.

"...How long have the two of you been... Out here? Wandering?"

"...I don't know..." Linda whispered. "...I stopped counting the days..."

"-A-Almost twenty years..." Ordy said. "...T-Twenty years after we left that Vault..."

"Twenty. Huh." Sanford lazed his head forwards. "...I have to piss."

 ** _csshm-CRK_**

-The suit rumbled, creaked- both Linda and Ordy looked down at their own laps whilst a towering titan stomped past them, kicked a few stray pieces of synth around, and thudded towards the smoking doorframe of the wrecked bulkhead.

Sanford stopped over the balled-up carcass of one his own mother's Gen-X synth models, and the suit whined and hissed, unfolding at the back and it bloomed apart like a flower of steel pedals.

Ordy broke eye contact with his feet to watch his son step out from inside the padded interior of the X-01- garbed in salvaged ceramic he had gotten from old Army uniforms, still tinted a faint shade of drab on their surfaces.

Sanford didn't even look at him as he rounded the side of the stilled, opened exo- he fiddled with his combat belt, bunched his hands and parted his legs- there was a pattering sound as he emptied his bladder onto the metals of the dead android without a second thought.

Ordy turned away, still quivering, still caught in hell within his own head as his past literally came back to piss on his conscience.

He glanced at Linda, who still hadn't moved from the floor- she was fiddling with a snapped-off synthetic finger in her bionic hand, flexing it between her chrome digits, looking at it with red, puffy eyes.

Sanford sighed, hiked up his pants.

"...Hancock should be back in a little bit..." Sanford muttered. Very soon, the X-01 was hissing and creaking again as he re-garbed himself to its interior.

"-So, Ordy," Sanford trotted over, looking down at his own father from beneath the helmet of his suit. "You've told me of a tracking tag you put on your little animal friends down here. Wanna' home in on the one you put on my girl?"

"...Your... Girl...?" Linda asked lowly from the floor.

"Yeah." Sanford dismissed her. "-So, are we good?"

"...F-Follow me..." Ordy stuttered.

"-GOOD NEWS, SIR! Hostiles have been totally eliminated!" Hancock suddenly shot out from one of the ground-level doorframes of the plaza, waving his buzzsaw erratically. "-Ha-ha! See that? We're professional douchebag exterminators! We could charge our services! WE'RE THAT GOOD!"

"Ordy's teleporting me to Nyx," Sanford ignored him as the two of them trudged through the dead synths to reach the lift platform. "-C'mon, man."

"-Uhm, pardon me, sir, but don't you mean... US?! Like the two Democratic badasses who can make a room full of women toss off their panties for us at the mere SIGHT of us?!"

"Just shut up, and let's go, Han'."

"-FINE! DENY me the rights of capitalism!"

"Having women is a right of capitalism?" Sanford laughed.

"By JOVE' it is!"

-It took a minute, but Linda eventually stood up and followed after them.

The four were silent as the lift carried them up to the highest connection walkway, the third level that Sanford and Hancock had escorted Ordy to after beating the synths, and Laslar to a degree.

Within minutes, all of them were standing in the same office, overlooking the massive chamber outside- Linda was hunched over a console beside Ordy, and the two Directors were clicking away soundlessly as they tapped into the teleportation matrix of the Secession's now ruined, facility.

Sanford was behind them, looked OVER them, not at them, and Hancock levitated beside him- agitated, at being told what his friend's plan was.

"-You're LEAVING ME?!"

"I want to talk to her."

"SO WHY CAN'T I BE ON THE SIDELINES?! Like some rash you get on your shin or some shit?! It's not essential, and it's not really NOTICEABLE, it's just there?!"

"...Stop talking," Sanford chuckled after a moment. "-You're a freak."

"A BADASS ONE, AT THAT!"

"You've been a good friend, Han'. Robot or not."

"Nah! Don't kid yourself, San' of the Ford'! WE, ARE GOD-LIKE! The team to undo all teams!"

"The duo to undo all duos."

"-EXxxxxaaAACCTTLY! Ha! Ha-HA! I taught ya' well I did!" Hancock bumped his saw against Sanford's fist.

"I want to talk to her alone."

"Yeah-yeah-YEAH! I get it! I don't wanna' see you pork her, anyway!"

"I'm not... 'Porking'- anything, damn it."

"PORKER!"

"I thought it was fucker?"

"FUCKIN' PORKER!"

"Ugh."

"Good luck, sir! Don't be yet another victim to the rage of women!"

"Are we set?" Sanford nodded at his parents.

"...Lucky for us, she hasn't gone too far..." Ordy nodded over his shoulder. "-Only a few miles away, towards the west-"

"-Wait, she got out? She got out of the facility?"

"...Yes, she did." Linda answered for her estranged husband. "-She probably took one of the sewage vents. I see a breach, here."

"...Oh, Nyx..." Sanford ran a gauntlet down the face of his helm. What was it with her and sewers? "-Where is she?"

"-She's in..." Ordy leant down and squinted. "-She's in some kind of... Structure..."

"What KIND of structure?"

"...Underground..."

"Can you beam me right to her?"

"...It's risky-"

"-Fine, beam me to a surface entrance. You can DO that, right? What kind of structure is this?"

"...I don't know, I don't have it on record..."

"Just do it."

"...Y-Yes, son."

Sanford turned to look at Hancock.

"-Watch them. Make sure they don't leave until I come back."

"-AFFIRMATIVE!" Hancock saluted with his flamethrower. "Baby-sitting duty! SHIT! I HATE baby-sitting..."

"...W-We won't leave, Sanford..." Linda said over her shoulder.

"LISTEN," Sanford jabbed a finger at them. "-I. Do. Not. TRUST, you. Hancock will stay with you until I get back. We'll talk about the facility, and... YOU... Then."

"...S-Sanford," Ordy clicked a final key. "-It's done. -B-But, Sanford... P-Please don't... Don't leave us like we left you- i-if we had known you were alive we would have-"

"Stop." Sanford held a gauntlet up, even as he heard a distinct whining in his hearing. "-Just stop."

"...I still love you, my baby boy..." Linda choked. "-I still love you."

"...-One day," Sanford said lowly, on the verge of tears. "-One day, I might have the strength in me, to forgive you. One day. But right now, I am incapable of it... I can't do it."

He glanced at his father, at his mother, he looked over at Hancock.

"-I'll be back in a few hours, buddy, and Nyx will be with me, I promise."

"-I'd sure hope so! Can't have the Trio-of-DESTRUCTION! -Without the mutated Frog! Who'll control the fly problem without her, sir?!"

"Good point." He frowned underneath the helmet at Ordy and Linda. "I'll be back soon."

"...B-Be careful, Sanford." Ordy said. "-Be careful. I love you."

Sanford didn't respond.

 ** _CHSK-! Zzzzzzzzzz..._** -He vanished into thin air with a flash of light, crackle of ozone.

Linda started crying again.

..."-HEY! Director Toad-stool! Is that an EMP grenade?!" Hancock suddenly asked.

"...Y-Yes, why?" Ordy sighed, fiddling with the charge that hung from the hip of his beltline.

"-Lemme' see that thing!"

"...O-Okay-?"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

 ** _CHSK-SHMzzZZZzzzzzzzzzzzz..._**

-Beforehand, there was swirling dust, undisturbed dirt to the ground, calmed and silent air.

The next moment, there was a flash of quickly distilled light, swirling tan dust, flickering bolts of miniature lighting- where nothing but dirt and dust had been, there was now a fully garbed Power Armored man standing tall, proudly, defiantly.

Sanford Tobs teetered on his creaking boots for a moment after the teleportation jump- he was pleasently surprised to see that the whiplash-like results he had suffered last time were very minimal, and faded after a second of stabilization.

Taking out his Laser rifle, his cutlass- Sanford spun around slowly and took in his surroundings.

He was in a... Cave, of sorts. The walls were made of jagged, cut stone and earth- there were wooden support beams that dug into the walls and formed upwards to splay in the form of struts connecting each side of the cavity above to each other.

Light streamed in from a wooden door just behind him, boarded, and chain-linked on the other side of the boards- it sealed out most of the sunlight, which stung Sanford's eyes briefly beneath the helmet from all his time underground recently.

The door capped a dirt path in here, that wound down from it, under his boots, past him, and he turned around follow it with his gaze- he was momentarily stupified to see what exactly the path ended at in THIS direction.

The earthy walls ended at the halt of the passageway, which was stopped by a wall of bolted steel, rusty, and covered in soot- a raised podium had a blinking, keyboard-laden console at its top, and the podium's grated plat was ringed by dented railings, and had a skeletal staircase leading up to it from the ground level.

Ahead of that, was a rounded gateway- a door arch, that was shaped, like a toothed cog.

It was opened, there were yellow lights pulsating inside the black, pipe and tank laden interior beyond it- and right next to this gaping entry, was a bulkhead that was round, like a giant coin with square teeth.

The great rotating door was lazed off to the flank of the entryway, it was centered with a small, three-digit number of yellow coloring.

It read- **_110_** _._

Sanford angled his head to view inside the yawning, silent interior of the Vault.

He gazed back at the wooden door.

His... Deathclaw, was in there?

How did she fit through that tiny door?

...Well, she DID fit inside the door to his old house, so... Maybe it wasn't horrendously outlandish like it came off to be, now that he thought about it for a second.

He checked his signature scans.

The Vault looked empty, from the scans alone, and they penetrated pretty deep throughout its warrens.

Sanford huffed, and he held his rifle and cutlass at the ready.

Stepping past the podium, towards the opened gateway- he lifted his boots past the raised portion dividing the beginning stairwell of the Vault's standardized layout design from the dirt outside. His heels thudded hollowly against the metal steps.

Standing in the rectangular lobby chamber, Sanford looked about the cylindrical power tanks lining the walls on both sides of the chamber, the plated ceiling, the hallway ahead that lead to the interior of the Vault's spaces.

Sanford had been in this Vault before- throughout his myriad of delves across Boston, he knew the layout of it, and he and Hancock had killed a SHITLOAD of Bloodbugs in it when they had scoured it for salvage several years ago.

It reminded him of Vault 111, HIS old Vault.

Sanford snorted.

He trekked inside.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

Most of the hallways and rooms were pretty much the same from how he and Hancock had left them. Any pieces of furniture they had moved or shifted, was still moved or shifted in the same spot- all the Bloodbug carcasses had rotted away, but there were still shell casings in the corners of the floor, bullet holes in walls and the ceiling.

Plasma burns even pock-marked some of the bulkheads from where Hancock had peppered swarms of the blood-sucking insects that had turned the Vault into a hive of sorts- and the reason that that had happened, was another side effect of the sick, and twisted experiments that Vault-Tec had been running on its people.

Sanford had come to discover a metallic odor when he and Hancock had first gotten through the security bulkhead- and as they investigated more and more of the Vault's innards, they found records, some from the inhabitants, some from the Overseer and staff- that chemicals had been pumped into the ventihilation systems.

Bluntly, it was another effort to modify people's behavior using narcotics delivered through the air ducts- Vault-Tec had tried it in other Vaults too, and, just like those, the result had been horrific.

Sanford would later come to understand that the smell he was cursed with as he and Hancock salvaged the place, was not the smell of the chemical that had long run out in the air ducts- it was the smell of blood.

It turned out, the Vault's citizens rebelled, and they had tossed the Overseer into the vat tank that was mixing and distributing the chemical throughout the vents- in other words, the Overseer's blended remains had been vaporized and shot out across the Vault's air ducts.

It was pretty disgusting, when he had first found out about it- that he basically was smelling a dead guy the whole time- and of course, Hancock didn't give a crap on the grounds of his lack of a nose.

So now, in a suit of Power Armor, all this time later, Sanford stalked through the dark rooms and chambers of the Vault, looking at all the furniture, kept clean and tidy, to remind people of their old homes- all the momentos left behind, the rusty radios and Radiation Kings, the rotted walls and grimy windows...

Sanford didn't have to scour the Vault long to find the main two-floor lobby, with two raised levels, divided by railing, on either side of an expansive chamber lined with metal tables, and stacked with trash in all corners and sides, and all up the two flights of steps leading up the second floor on either side.

Sanford sighed at the mess, he glanced at his scans, put his weapons on his hips, and stalked quietly between two of the tables for a chamber on the ground floor a few steps away, through an ajar bulkhead arch, into a rectangular cell, with a long table drawling down the northern wall ahead.

Seated atop its grimy, steel blue surface, having shifted away all the trash littering its top to splay it all in a messy pile on the floor ahead of herself- was a great, scaly mass, bunched in on herself, claws draped between hanging legs, feet compressed to the floor, head sunken to her belly.

Sanford's heart flared at the sight of her, and, he knew it was her this time, not like that incident back at Diamond.

If she noticed his entrance, she did not do or say anything to present her caring.

For awhile, she sat there, and he stood there.

Some of the structuring moaned in quiet settling in the backdrop from the old Vault.

Sanford quivered out a sigh, and he angled his helmet up.

"Yo." He croaked.

She didn't say anything. She didn't even raise her head.

Sanford looked across her body. He saw burn wounds, places where her scales had been scythed apart for black trenches. Plasma scoring.

He stepped over to her, and placed his gauntlets on her arm without fear, not even looking at her face as he leant closer to examine the damage.

Nyx twitched at the contact, and a held-in breath hissed through her congested, larger nostrils. Her tail twitched in its lazy drape and curl over the table's top, and Sanford already had a handful of stimulation injections out of his rucksack, she didn't interfere as he emptied three of them into her arm.

"Hold up your arm for me." He muttered to her, hanging the last pack in his gauntlet. "Nyx, c'mon."

"..." -She didn't say anything, or do anything.

Sanford huffed, creased a gauntlet into her arm pit and shoved her limb higher- she huffed from the contact, and draped her head in the opposite direction, avoiding eye-contact as he stuck the syringe gently into her breast, and then took it away, released her arm for it to settle back into place.

Sanford watched her, smacked his chops, and flicked away the empty syringe.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"..."

"...Nyx."

"..."

"NyyyyYXXxx." He pressed, sing-song.

"...Non'." She muttered.

"You were shot?"

"...How did you find me, monsieur'?"

"Did you think I wouldn't?" He smiled.

...Silence.

He shifted on his heels.

"The Director helped me."

"Mm. Why?"

"-Because-" He faltered. "-I-I'll tell you later."

"Non'."

"What?"

"You are leaving this Vault the way you entered."

"...What do you mean?"

"I do not desire to travel with you any longer, Sanford." She said, raising her head, looking at him deathly with her glowing, yellow eyes. "Laisse'-moi' tranquille'."

"...No."

"Non'?"

"No. I don't think I will."

"I give no other choice to you." She snorted. "I don't want to see you anymore."

"-Y-Ya' know something? Something really grand?" He angled his head. "I went through hell, and I went through hell again and BACK again, to save your life. I've shot more shit in the last day and a half then I have in my entire life, it feels like. Come back with me."

"Non'."

"Nyx," Sanford inclined. "Come back."

"Non'."

"-Nyx, PLEASE, come back with me. Come back with me now."

"-I, said, NO!" She barked at him, her voice loud enough to rebound throughout the whole Vault itself. "You cannot FORCE me, Sanford! I. REFUSE. Go away! Go away and do not come back!"

"-But I can't DO that-!"

"-You mean you don't WANT to do that!"

"No! I CANNOT, just leave you here-!"

"I'M NOT GIVING YOU A FUCKING CHOICE!" **_BMMK!_** -She stomped her foot, shook the whole chamber. "-GET OUT!" She screamed, tail lashing more trash off the table's surface.

Sanford clenched his fists, his chest pumping out into the cuirass of the suit.

"-Why?" He snapped.

"..."

"Why won't you come back with me? Huh? WHY?"

"..."

"-Oh for-" He raggedly huffed. "-This is about that woman in Diamond? That's it? The one we saved?"

"..."

"-NOTHING, happened! I was an idiot! I was a fuckin' idiot! I kissed that girl because I haven't kissed someone in a decade and I couldn't control myself and I felt SICK afterwards! I-It wasn't right! It wasnt- I couldn't DO that! I'm regretting it! I'll probably regret it until I'm DEAD!"

"...I... I do not CARE about that... 'Woman'..." She wasn't used to using that word. "...I do not even care about the- the horrible things you said to me..."

Sanford deflated like a balloon.

"-Oh Christ, Nyx, I-"

"-I do not even care about... what you see me as..." The Deathclaw raised her head to him, her eyes were narrowed, her lower jaw looked like it was shuddering- but Sanford examined it for a moment to determine that it was quivering. "...I care about what I have always known, since the very start, monsieur'."

"...I don't... I don't see you as anything but my friend, Nyx-"

"-Do you know what it is? Sanford? What I've always known?"

"...N-Nyx, please-"

"I have always known, that I would destroy myself, for how much I have come to care about you." She stated. "Since day one, depuis le' debut', I knew that it would spell nothing good for either of us, because that's what I DO, I bring death with me, everywhere I go."

"...No, no Nyx, you don't bring DEATH with you everywhere you go, look at me-"

"-So, on this fact," She started having a hard time speaking, as what faint light existed in the Vault, allowed Sanford to see rotatng orbs of wet reflection rolling down her scaly face. "-Why can't you make this easier for me, and GO? Why? Monsieur'? Why can't you do that?"

"B-Because-! I-! I-I can't do that-! I... I came here to apologize to you! To tell you that I was a fuckin' asshole! That I was at fault! That I opened my mouth, and that I disrespected you twice over! And that-! And that... I..."

-She bowed her head again, and he heard a tiny, muffled hop coming from her, as the Deathclaw literally started... CRYING, in front of him, for the first time.

A giant seven-foot tall reptile? Crying? Hogwash, skullduggery, fairy tail. It was completely outlandish.

But... Here it was, right in front of his face.

She snorted wetly.

Sanford raised and lowered his arms, he looked down at his boots, his own face starting to quiver.

Arms of dark mist swirled around the interior of the grimy, blasted out Vault- a place that Sanford had once explored, and had discovered its mysteries, with no intention of ever returning. It reminded him of the caress of this... Negative energy, that had gripped him over the years.

Sanford blinked a few times.

"...Nyx," He said. "...I can't leave you, because I'll be lost if I do."

"..."

"...I don't care what you look like, I don't care how you sound, I don't care if people are afraid of you, and- and I don't care that my faults happened, b-because you are worth, TOO much to me, for me to dwell on mistakes that I need to learn from... I... I haven't found another living being in this Wasteland that I strive for, y-you hear me? I- I mean- Nyx, I've come to love you, I... You're my friend, my scaly... Seven-foot tall, friend...

...N-Nyx, I can't... LEAVE you. I can't go back to how I was after meeting you- d-don'tchya' see? Don't you see that- that now that I've been exposed to it- I can't go back to my life without it! I can't go back to how I was living- without YOU! I can't do it!"

"..."

"...I..."

"..."

"...Oh Christ, Nyx, listen to me... I... SAY something! Anything! T-Tell me to go fuck myself! I mean-! ANYTHING!"

"..."

-For the first time, in twelve years, of his natural life-

Sanford Tobs, broke down, and started crying.

Like a big baby.

He hunched down his head, and he started sobbing, he started just, BAWLING, like his father kind of had back at the Institute facility, now in tatters.

Sanford Tobs, was lost. Just like he said he would be.

Today was just crashing down on him.

So there he stood before the Deathclaw, surely, outclassing her water works by a long shot.

Like a big, metal-encased, baby.

...Well then, that was it.

That was it, the jig was up.

If she didn't want to come back to him, she didn't want to come back to him.

"...Okay..." Sanford took a huge intake of breath, and he tried to calm himself, he held up a quivering gauntlet. "...O-Okay. You don't w-want to come back with me. T-T-That's fine. I won't try to stop you. I-I won't even look for you, again, if that's what y-you want... No matter what, though, I'll never- I'll never just, FORGET, you know?"

The armor hissed, creaked, whined and opened up at the back.

Nyx didn't look up, even when she felt warmth resonating over her from the smaller form of Sanford Tobs, who fearlessly stepped up to her, and hung his arms over her scaly shoulders- she felt him peck the space at the center of her cranium, and he squeezed his arms.

"-I love you, you know? I really do. If this is what- what you feel is best, then... It's fine." He pecked her again, squeezed her again.

He couldn't pull away, after that, though- her big old hand over his back prevented that.

Sanford didn't surge back, he surged forwards, and Nyx entrapped and clenched the smaller man to her- sliding him up onto the table with her, encircling him with her arms, Sanford conjoined his reddened forehead with hers, and they both cried on each other like that.

Her yellow eyes opened, she stared into him, and she examined his pale head, his REAL head, beneath that stupid helmet all the time- she opened her jaws and blasted out a held in sob from this emotional crapshoot she had been trying to contain, probably foolishly, at that.

"...I'm sorry-" She shook her head slightly- not very much, she didn't want to disconnect with him. "-I'm so sorry, Sanford-"

"-W-Why the shit- a-are you sorry?" He half-laughed half-cried. "-I'M the a-asshole-!"

"-You're not an 'Asshole'- non', non' non' non'..." She shook her head again. "-Just stupide'- stupide', like all men..."

"-H-Hey..." He grinned. "-That may be true, but- c'mon..."

"-I cannot hide this anymore, Sanford-"

"-We-we were hiding it?"

"I don't know- I don't care, non', I want to go back, I want to go back with you, Sanford-"

"-I-It was that easy, h-huh?"

"-E-Excusez'moi'?"

"-A-All I had to do was t-tear up, huh? Aw, man... I-I wish I knew that s-sooner..."

"-S-Shut up, monsieur', shut up..." She bent lower, her laughter muffled in his breast.

Sanford, for the first time in twelve years, had cried like a big stupid baby.

But for the first time in twelve years, he also saw this big, big light within himself.

A weight that had barred him down half his life, felt lighter.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

 ** _CSsshkk..._**

-The wooden door slid across the dirt, and both parties hissed quickly due to the large, copious beams of the sun.

"-Say, this is on the other side of the Charles River,"

"Mmhm, monsieur'."

"-How'd you get over here, THAT fast? The CIT Campus is like, twenty minutes from here."

"I swam."

"You swam? Across the Charles River?"

"Oui'."

"...Holy crap, you ARE fast. How'd you find 110?"

"That's the number, is it?"

"Yep."

"It looked... Lonely."

"-What were you, going to do, if I, hadn't... Showed?"

"..."

"You don't know?"

"Oui'."

"That's good. We won't have to worry about it ever again. Y-You, uh... You wanna' go home?"

"What of the Institute? The connards who imprisoned me?"

"I took care of them. I'll go back and clean the mess up later."

"Where is the usiner?"

"He's there, watching the Directors."

"The... Who...?"

"...I don't wanna' talk about that right now... A-Are the stims working?"

"I believe so. Are you okay, mon cher'?"

"Fine now that I have your scaly toukous' back, eh?"

"Hmmph." **_CHK!_** -She bumped him with her hip.

Together, man and Deathclaw carefully trotted down the raise of dirt that spilled from the gutted, square-like construction of brick that jutted out from the rear section of a great warehouse, long collapsed, and ruined.

Ahead of them, a road drawling along the concrete flank of the Charles River extended west and east, and the skyline of Boston, including the roundness of the Great Dome, was a blue-tinted backdrop across the stilled mass of the river itself.

Sanford looked at her and smiled beneath the helmet, and Nyx bumped him with her hip again when they reached the bottom of the incline.

"So... You took a sewer dispulsion pipe?" Sanford started.

"...Similarly to the time I met you and the usiner, yes."

"You just didn't fall out of the sky this time."

"Non'."

"Too bad, maybe I could've caught you this time."

"Mm. Interesting consideration, mon ami'."

"I could've held you, dramatically, like this," Sanford simulated his arms in a dipping motion. "-Held a gun up and fired at a mass of encroaching demons, just like a comic book hero!"

"You are around that machine too much, Sanford."

"I know-I know... Gotta' admit, though, hearing you say- ' _Oh! My HERO!_ ' -Would be pretty awesome."

"It'll never happen."

"Why not?"

"It's... Icky..."

"Sexy?"

"...'Sex'-'Y'? Non', non' I do not think so."

"Certainly would be." Sanford hauled back his arm and swung his hand forwards lightly- **_clp!_** -and Nyx hopped forwards with a tiny squeak leaving her jaws as he smacked her rump besides the tail.

"-Sanford-!" She giggled.

"-Is 'My hero'- following that?"

"Non'. Don't do that, you filthy little human..."

"...Alright, alright... I'll stop..."

 ** _clp!_**

"-Ooo-! You little-!"

"-Ha-HA!"

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-


	63. Chapter 62

**CHAPTER 62**

 **Nothing but Fallout.**

* * *

Sliding, sliding, sparks flying, metal hissing- something collided with his shoulder, parted upwards, and then he felt weightless again- though, nothing in comparison to what had happened in the computing hall- then there was a big splat, and he was stuck in something wet, and putrid.

Laslar Seduun fell into a ravine that flanked the side of the Charles River, sank up to his knees and elbows in the muddy mess, and slowly pulled himself to sit up, and looked around him with some measure of calming demeanor.

Behind him was a raise of concrete, straight up, and the shadow of the campus' far southern building was visible just above that- and before him, the land slid down, in the form of a slick, puddle-filled hill- and the lapping waves of the Charles River were beyond that and up to the horizon line, with skyscrapers pulling above it in the sky ahead.

Defeated, hurting, with his prized armor battered and broken- the Superintendent snorted wetly, reached up with his gauntlet, and tore off his helmet with a few hisses of couplings being separated- his pale face was matted with sweat, stains of dried blood.

With one eye swelling shut from where Sanford had decked him- Laslar flexed his teeth against each other, and teetered in his kneel to the mud, staring across the Charles canal.

He looked back at the dispulsion chute he had thrown them through- the crank-hatch was lifted right up from where he had slid down and rammed it ajar.

Laslar snorted at that too, glanced into the mud by his flank, and saw Luft sunk face-down in the repulsive browns and tans, unmoving, stilled, maybe even dead. Laslar didn't KNOW if he was dead, but he was laboring under the possible delusion that he wasn't, so, the body was coming with him.

"Get up, Luft." Laslar grumbled, sliding his armored arms into the mud beneath Luft's chest- the Sergeant's suit whined and groaned, and gobs of slime cascaded and slid off to repugnantly plop back into the mess below whilst Laslar lifted him.

Slinging his man's arm over his pauldrons, Laslar Seduun overlooked the Charles River with a moment of silence- he wished Luft was awake, somewhere, as a tiny hope- and that was only because he wanted someone to rant at, because of how angry he was.

Laslar could picture half the High Command leaping at the opportunity to prove his failure.

Such a simple operation. He had technological and numerical superiority, and he was a seasoned veteran...

-But he still lost to a fuckin' kid.

"Necessary losses," Laslar grumbled to himself, using his tongue to forcibly push out one of his canines that had been loosened from one of Sanford's punches. He spit the tooth away, and Luft's helmet slumped over. "-But I'm coming back."

Laslar shifted Luft's arm again, and he started dragging the Sergeant down the hill beside himself, as the two sole surviving Enclave operatives fled the scene of their defeat.

* * *

-0-0-0-0-0-

It was an audacious thing that Sanford had planned, it required copious amounts of time, wires, lights he and Hancock had long ago acquired for a purpose that never saw fulfillment- and it needed all of his effort, his WANT of doing it.

Sanford had never driven himself to DO for someone a kind of thing he was now- it was a sort of revelation, and a standing sadness too, that he hadn't met anyone in the wastes throughout the last decade that he had... 'Striven', for. It was a good word, he thought.

He strove to see her happy.

He strived for her to smile.

Striving. Strive.

-His father had striven for him to be happy, his mother had striven for him to be happy- he had striven for them to be happy, and although Hancock would never admit it- he believed the robot also strove for him to be happy, and the feeling was mutually likewise.

There was always striving, within his life, even when it crashed into a flaming heap and became what it was now, which, honestly, wasn't so fiery and kamakazi-ish' anymore- but it was there, the striving, the striving for good things for himself, for Hancock, the acquaintances he'd made...

But this was different.

It was for HER, specifically.

It wasn't just for his own fun, or for feeling only remorse and the materialistic need to repay for what he had said to her in the Museum of Science- Sanford was doing this for those reasons in addition, sure, but tonight he strove to see his friend smile.

With that on his mind, he had dug through all the salvage that he and Hancock had gathered in the garage of the Gas Station- he particularly focused on recreational stuff, things he had taken because he liked them, not because they were a resource.

Sanford eventually had a wrapped coil of old Christmas lights he had found a while back- yellow ones, and they still worked- they were one of those models that you wrapped around stuff, plugged in, and there was a wheel switch on the wire that would turn the bulbs on.

Sanford took that, and he got out an old H&H Staple Gun that Hancock had found in a truck when they were walking down a highway far south- probably...

-Sanford turned the tool in his hand, flexing his other hand's fingers on the lights over his shoulder-

...-Probably three years ago? Maybe four? Who cared.

In addition to that, Sanford went digging in some of the old books he and Han' had picked up over the years- and disappointingly, there weren't as many of those as say items of scrap, or monetary value. But Sanford looked around in all the chests and boxes in the garage- making a thorough mess that he would have to clean up later.

He tugged out a tiny, blue, hard-cover booklet from underneath a few hubcaps in one of the boxes- and, bringing the thing closer to flip it open, and examine it's contents- Sanford saw that it was a tour guide, and it had translations in it, for basic German, Italian, Spanish and...

...and French.

There was a whole section in this thing, for France.

Sanford flipped through the pages, and he shook his head, smiling.

Why hadn't he found this earlier?

-Straying from his original goal, Sanford dug back into the box again and came up with another book that apparently had been stowed in here without his knowledge- it was dusty, soft cover- putting down the European Tour Guide booklet, he dusted this new piece off in his hands.

Reading the cover with some excitement- this eagerness was thoroughly dashed when he saw, in bright white letters-

 ** _The Adventures, of Captain Underpants!_**

-..."-God damn you, Hancock."

-He underhand tossed it back into the box.

Sanford had a whole project planned out- a big strip of cardboard from a refrigerator box, a wood slope glued to the other side- he took all of his stuff and went out underneath the pump-shade roof outside.

With this idea in mind- he started weaving the lights and the wires- he routed them to the generator outside, and then he sat in the center of the court beneath the pump-shade of the station, and he started setting up a Frankenstein-like creation of electronic beauty.

On the slab of cardboard, the wires and lights were supported against it with staples from the H&H Staple Gun - it took some deep memory digging - but soon, as he sat in the dying light of the evening, the wires formed a roughly triangular shape on the cardboard.

 ** _psk-KK_**

 ** _psk-KK_**

 ** _psk-KK_**

-The staple gun clacked every time he used it, and he folded the wires and held them with his bare hands, got it to look as accurate to what he was intending to mimic as possible.

He knelt over the boarding, face scrunched in determination- in thought to how it would look when it was done, what her reaction would be. He was excited, he hoped she was too.

"...Just two more..." **_psk-KK psk-KK-_** "-Done! Let's see this baby..."

Sanford wrapped his hands underneath the two flanks of the board- he huffed, stood it upright, and leveled the wood slope at its rear to stand it straight without his needing of holding it.

He slowly took his hands off the material, stepped back, and nodded at the dark shape with satisfaction- a big rectangle of crisscrossing Christmas lights and wires organized into a certain shape, that, if Nyx WAS as into this as she seemed- she would undoubtedly recognize it.

Sanford scratched his head, put the staple gun down on the ground, and found the little flick-switch for the lights draped on the pavement below him. He took it up, rolled the switch with his thumb-

 ** _BZ bzzzz..._**

-And as his entire front torso and face became highlighted a faint yellow, he marveled at the creation that had taken him all afternoon, folded his arms, and nodded at himself- impressed.

"She'll love it."

-He switched it off, and dragged the line with him in one hand and his lantern in the other- to the edge of the Gas Station's front door- he draped the switch on the ground there, and then he went inside, put the lantern on the window ledge, and he waited by the two counters.

Rubbing his hands together, he locked his eyes to the slightly darker shape of the cardboard slab out there- his idea, his creation- the thing that he hoped would give her a positive experience, would make her smile.

Had he done something like this with her yet? Why hadn't he already?

-Didn't matter, didn't matter.

Sanford was practically bouncing on his heels. He really hoped she would love it. He loved it, at least.

He didn't have to wait long for Nyx to stalk in from outside- and just as he planned on, she went right for the doorframe, didn't even glance out at the sealed-in expanse of the station ahead of her- she ducked, compressed her arms, and entered the station lobby without a word.

Hard to believe that awhile ago, he would've been praying for his life upon seeing the hulking shadow of the slightly taller reptilian being nudging into his home- now though, in the illumination of the lanterns in the lobby, he saw her face brighten in surprise to him standing there.

Her yellow eyes narrowed, she grinned briefly, and slipped the rest of the way inside- her tail curling through the frame and orbiting behind her thighs.

"Monsieur'?" She asked. "You have a playful look about yourself."

"-Well, I MIGHT have planned something for us tonight, you know, a little... uhm... a little date, I guess." He smiled back at her- he brought out the European Tour Guide booklet, and wagged it up for her- she leaned closer and then hopped back with a tiny laugh, a GIGGLE.

The Deathclaw giggled. Huh.

"Oh REALLY? And what might that litterature' pour' Paris, be for?" She held a claw over her chops.

"-Uhm- Est-ce' que la...uhm...DAME, Est-ce' que la dame' souhaite' se joindre'...uhm- a' moi' pour' un repas?" He mispronounced half the words in that sentence, but he eventually got it across- and the Deathclaw's eyes beamed when he finished his little- 'Pick up line'.

"Mmm," She hummed in approval. "Tres' gentil' de votre' part. J'accepte'."

"Excellent! Uhm... U-Un' moment'," Sanford hurried towards the back of the station- his bedding chambers, by extension, it was kind of THEIR chamber now, seeing as she always shared it with him- the Deathclaw was smiling, barely keeping in this swelling feeling in her breast- it was excitement, it was joy- it gave her a high feeling, and she liked it.

 ** _CSHK-ccccsssskkkkkkkk-_**

-The metal frame of the mattress hissed on the floor as he dragged it across the tile- the Deathclaw's smile was briefly abolished when she saw Sanford backing into the foyer with it in tow.

He hurried to pull it just before the two counters beneath the lobby windows- he swung it sideways so that it ran parallel, it gave off a- **_ccsshkk-CCCK!_** -and he gestured to it with open hands.

"I didn't have any bigger chairs, so, I figured a bench would work."

"Parfait'." She hummed after a moment.

"You did say YES, beforehand, right? I still don't know a lot of French."

"Oui', Sanford, I did."

"THAT, I know means yes." He smiled. "-'Oui'.'- Feels weird on the tongue."

"T'is how I feel with German."

"Why German out of all the languages you know?" Sanford was trailing back towards the garage this time- he was listening to her as she raised one foot, and started to work behind the opposite side of the mattress and frame- her hip bumping into the counter lightly.

"I don't know, mon ami'," She huffed with effort- finally working her knees to bend under the countertop- she sat on the matt and it gave off a charismatic **_Sqk-kk_** -she wriggled her tail for a more comfortable drape over the other side. "I never completely grasped German, nor Italian. I always knew the language of Paris the best, and so I stuck with it."

Nyx folded her large arms over the countertop- doting on her wrists with a worried eye about how small the surface was in comparison to her overall arm size- she had to hunch over a bit to make it work, make it more 'Human'-like for herself.

She imagined a customer of a restaurant in the pre-War world humans lived in- ordering food, sitting down at a booth, hunching over the plate, and quietly eating while reading the paper, or interlapping bites with sips of a coffee cup.

She didn't have either of those things, but, the comparison got her in the sort of mindset she wanted.

Sanford had quoted it as a 'Date'- a little too childish for her descriptions, BUT, again, there was another but here- she'd rather be on a 'Date'- then having to hurt people, as, over the last few weeks, meshed in with the greatest time in her life, she had had to hurt MANY people.

In fact, she had killed more people recently then through her entire trek across D.C., the Commonwealth, and the ruined lands between them- before Sanford, she had been quite good at avoiding humans altogether.

But since Sanford was a straightforward guy- if someone was a threat, he ran in shooting- she couldn't just slip by things anymore, and it didn't help that he wasn't specifically DESIGNED to be able to do that, too.

Nyx had been bred for that very kind of style- even if she had never planned to use it for any other reason than keeping herself alive- it had been encoded in her very D.N.A by the United States government, and by extension the Enclave.

Even though she felt, bluntly, crappy, about being raised in an Enclave controlled facility- being grown, or raised, what have you, it didn't matter anymore- she could confidently say for herself that the encoding, the genetic modifications weren't exactly a downer for her.

They helped her to survive, to fight for what she believed in- and while before, the only thing she had believed in was just getting by- now she had a cause of sorts, and she had other people alongside her with that cause.

So that was what made the negative energy created from thinking on who she was and how she had come to be, a little less heavy for her- she was able to use those things for good, or at least what she believed was good.

"So it's not HOT, exactly," Sanford said from behind her- he crossed round the frame opposite of her flank, and put down two trays- each had an assortment of food he'd prepared on them. "-But it's the best I could do with a campfire and pots and all."

She tested the air with both her nose and her tongue as he arced an arm past her shoulder and set the aluminum tray down before her- it was a pile of that packaged beef she couldn't get enough of- and there was a tin of baked Mirelurk just above it with a fork's handle jutting out the top.

He placed a duplicate of hers next to it, and right as he made to hurry away again- she caught him, opened her mouth, and said-

"Processed food for the grand dining plan, mon ami'?"

"Oh, I-I'm sorry," He sounded hurt. "-I know it's supposed to be special, I just don't have anything else-"

"I'm teasing you, Sanford," She smiled, bucking him in the arm with her horn. "It's special to me too."

"That's good," He gestured for the dark view of the lot outside. "Because there's one last thing that I prepped for this."

"Mm?"

"Watch this."

Sanford squeezed past the frame- he ran over to the doorway of the foyer's entrance- picked up a draping line of black from the shaded ground down there- she watched him curiously, tail twitching and everything.

He jerked his thumb over the wire, she heard a click of plastic.

 ** _-bzzzzzz_**

-And then the buzzing of electricity from outside, miniscule, and light.

She turned around, and leaned over the counter in wonder.

"Sanford..." She trailed. "...That is... Beautiful."

"You like it? It took me all day."

"...Beau'... Simply beau'."

-Outside, with just the right distance so that the cardboard slab it was crafted on wasn't immediately noticeable- was an array of lights just like the ones from Diamond City- that were arranged and hung via staples and knots, to appear just like the very symbol of the country whose language she had adopted.

The lights were almost triangular, like an angled tower- in fact, it was supposed to look like THE tower, the one and only.

It was the Eiffel Tower.

Or, at least, it was a bunch of lights set up to LOOK like the Eiffel Tower.

Sanford got his point and the ambience across.

She loved it.

"...You shouldn't have." She mused, but in part, she said it because she wanted to prevent herself from letting too much emotion show in her voice- she didn't want to ruin the moment for herself -she leaned on her elbows over her tray, and watched the light coils outside with wide, dreaming eyes.

"I shouldn't have, huh?" He laughed as he stepped back behind the frame, beside her, and sat on the matt quietly beside her. "You like it?"

"...I most certainly do..."

"It's like we're in Paris, right? It's just in a little worse-for-wear, but I'd say we've made it." He gazed at her face, even though it was turned from him.

"...And, even with the dark, if you simply tune out the board, it's... it's wonderful, Sanford."

"I'm glad. You hungry?"

"...Yes, I am, monsieur'..." The Deathclaw took the side of the tray, nudged the tin of Mirelurk onto the counter, and then brought the whole thing up- she opened her fanged mouth, tipped back her head, let the mound of Salisbury slop slide off right into her open maw.

Sanford angled his head up to watch this occur with an impressed expression- she wiggled the tray, her throat undulated once, and then she set the aluminum back down on the counter- put her elbows back up, had her chin in her palms- it was as if he hadn't spent the last hour making them both dinner.

Interesting how that just happened.

"...Good, I'm guessing?" He laughed beside her, picking up his fork from his tin, and jabbing a slab of Salisbury on his own tray.

"...-Oh!" She realized what had transpired, and looked dumbly between the empty and full trays, head reclining from her hands. "-I-I suppose- I got carried away-"

"It's fine," Sanford smiled at her. "The point was for a special night for you, I'd say it's special, I'm having fun already."

"...Oh, Sanford." She nudged him with her arm, and watched the lights outside in the middle of the court. The night silently overtook the ambience then as Sanford quietly ate, and she quietly observed the pretend Eiffel Tower.

As her mind conjured up images of a golden cityscape around the base of that tower- she made up a scenario in her head- of Sanford and her sitting in whatever was left of Paris, miles and miles away, THOUSANDS of miles away... And that the only thing still standing, and still lit up, was the real Eiffel Tower.

It was a sad scenario for her, because she felt for the countries of the world, and she had literally missed out on how beautiful they were before the bombs- but it was also a stirring scenario for her, because she would be with Sanford, and she obviously enjoyed him very much.

She was smiling.

"I did good, then." Sanford chuckled at her as he swallowed another mouthful of steak- shifting on the matt, the frame squeaked a bit. "You look like you're thinking."

"...I'm always thinking." She mumbled, still smiling. "I don't want to think now, though, I want to sit here with you, and nothing else."

"You believe it? After all the things we've done the last few weeks," Sanford shook his head, scooping up more Salisbury. "It all culminated for us doing something simple like this. Ha."

"...I thought all a warrior wanted was to just go home, monsieur'." She looked down at him, nudging her head past her shoulder.

"...You're right," He paused, swallowing again. He put his fork down, and linked eyes with her. "Where do you think home is, Nyx?"

"I think it's here."

"I've been here this long, no use in leaving now?"

"Mm."

"...I'm glad to hear that."

"Were you concerned I'd say otherwise?"

"Well... Yeah, a little. Yeah I was."

"Because of that female?"

"...Yeah. Yeah that's part of it."

"You exerted a certain control over yourself, monsieur'," She said to him, eyes failing to level with his now- she decided to focus on his chest as she worded this. "In loyalty to something that we didn't even know will be certain. I... could never be angry at you, for it."

"It felt wrong," He mumbled. "I didn't want to do something that came out from some stupid disagreement we had... Something serious like what... that... girl... had planned."

"You've never been romantically involved with someone before, monsieur'?"

"...I've shot more people than I've even smiled at." He sighed. "I was too young when the bombs hit, I was still a kid, I had a few more years in High School, I had my whole life ahead of me, it didn't involve guns, or blood, or violence, or a world that was dead."

"I've asked many questions about it,"

"-They don't bother me, if that's what you're worried about." He shrugged, snickering. "I think I said it some point before, I've had my time to be angry at how my life turned out."

"But does it really anger you, monsieur'?"

"Does what?"

" Having it all taken away from you like that, vole'."

"...I just," He shrugged again. "I focus on knowing that I'm able to do things no one in my old life, in the old world, could have ever dreamed of doing, and that makes it alright for me. I was dealt a shitty hand, and I turned it into something else."

"I never thought that way with my life." She shook her head. "I admire that."

"What? The line of thinking?"

"How YOU interpreted your peril."

"I wouldn't call it peril," He admitted. "Not after the Vault."

"A decade of surviving in this hellhole would not be considered peril?"

"It was dangerous," He laughed. "Of course it was freakin' dangerous, it was death-defying, it was INSANE, but, once me and Han' got our act together, and we started LIVING, not just surviving... There's so many things I hate, but there's so many things I think are just amazing."

"Beautiful?" She angled her head for the cardboard and the light formation stapled to it outside. "Like your tour' Eiffel?"

"I've never used it as an adjective, but, hey, new things every day." Sanford folded his arms in his lap- forgetting about the small remains of his food still left before him. They were focusing more on each other than the little lightshow outside.

Nyx was lightly flexing her fingers together in a clench beside her cheekbone, she gazed round her shoulder and contemplated on him, seeming quite content.

"...It's unfortunate that I'm taller than you," She said after a passing of silence. "I've read in some lien' amoureuse' novels that leaning on the man's shoulder is a sort of cultural icon, has to do with- 'Dating' -so to speak."

"Well if you move over a little bit, you can, um..." He motioned for her lap under the counter. "-Get some distance, lean over, and you should get a good even angle with me."

"That sounds overly complicated, mon ami'." She hummed.

"It's actually ironic," Sanford said. "You couldn't STAND being touched when you were stuck in my suit."

She rumbled a laugh to it- shifted over more, and physically leaned on him with her scaly arm, she looked out at the lights and the dark of the night again- Sanford didn't recline away from it- he lifted an arm and curled it as best he could over her waist, hooked his hand on her hip, and squeezed lightly.

"Ironic too, how that changed." He added.

"...It's nice to have someone."

"Yeah."

"...I'm glad I fell out of the sky in front of both of you, even the usiner'."

"That's saying something."

"I know," She groaned jokingly. "What have you DONE to me?"

"What have YOU, done to ME," He countered. "You know how long it's been since I've touched someone for this long? I don't even remember the last time I hugged another person, I just..."

"...Sanford," He felt a snaking limb of warmth cascade over his center-back- she kept her fingers bunched in a fist to mitigate risk from her nails. "The only other person I even considered attachment with was blown to pieces in front of me, and he was the same species as me. How do you think I feel?"

"...I understand... Say, what IS this? Do we know yet?"

She didn't answer him- she distanced herself from the edge of the counter, shifting backwards on the matt, giving herself some wiggle room- she bowed down to him, and, since there wasn't such a huge height difference, it was quite easy- Sanford had a pair of yellow eyes right in front of his.

The tips of her curling horns were on either side of his head- she angled the ridge right over her nose more towards him to avoid poking him.

He remembered the first time she had done this to him, he expected a cold feeling, a smooth, cool sensation of scales- but instead, his forehead, and the ridge between his eyes, were met with soothing warmth with a tinge of a leathery texture.

The heat radiating from her encompassed all over his head, his body- the Deathclaw held herself there, and it wasn't for anything special, or even really serious- she just wanted him there, with her, touching her- it was a feeling both of them had been denied.

What she said was true- all a warrior wanted was to go home- but, Sanford liked to think that warriors longed for things the average person took for granted- material comforts, stress over such 'Domestic' things, love.

He didn't know if this was something to word that powerfully- something like full-blown LOVE, but, this certainly was two battered people taking companionship from each other- it was just nice to have someone there.

The Wasteland was a big and lonely place- by this point, he just couldn't feel that same lack of attraction anymore, that her being a big, upright lizard created.

Aside from that Jess in Diamond City- when would an opportunity for something like this ever happen to him again?

What did it matter by this point?

Lizard or not, he cared for her- he didn't really UNDERSTAND everything about it entirely yet, but... Hey, it was there, that meant something to him. She meant something to him.

They rocked a bit in that stance- he shut his eyes and sighed.

"...What is it?" She murmured.

"...It's just so strange."

"What is strange?"

"Just... Holding you, it's strange."

"Why, Sanford?"

"Because I've never done it in my life."

"Should I stop?"

"Nope."

"Mm."

"...So this- 'Nyx' title, is gonna' be definite, right?"

"...Yes. I haven't focused very much on it lately, obviously."

"Well, about time" He chuckled. "I've was getting tired of- 'Ms. Angrypants' -all the time."

"I don't even WEAR pants, you connard'."

"That's not nice, Angrypants."

"Mm." She smiled as he laughed at her- and without really thinking about it- he shifted his head back, and planted a peck on the scales between her eyes.

...Blinking in this moment of disorientation- she raised her head back from him, squinting, scrutinizing him.

"What was that?" She mumbled.

"...What?" Sanford frowned. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Non', but... What was that, what you just did?"

"Oh, pfft, it was... uhm... it was nothin'." He shrugged, breaking eye contact, focusing on her thigh for a moment. "You know, I... I appreciate your company, and, all that..."

"But what did you do with your mouth?"

"...Ahm, I don't know, it's..."

"The soldier of stone, kissing me? AGAIN?" She grinned widely. "I'm flattered, mon cher'."

"Now it's mon CHER'?"

"Oui'." -The Deathclaw completely overshot her own expectations too- Sanford had never seen her bunch up the mass on the tips of her chops- her 'Lips' if you could call it that- and then she came back down, and he felt warmth, slight moisture, dead center his forehead.

He was lost in the smoother looking scales of her throat as they took up most of his vision- he felt a tiny bit of suction, and she detached silently- reaffirming her look to him, she was smiling, giddy.

"I believe I could accept this as a habit relatively quickly, Sanford." She hummed. "I like it."

Dumbfounded at just how quickly she... PICKED UP on that, Sanford suddenly grew daring-

"-Hey, you wanna' try something?"

"Oh?" Her tail was curling back and forth behind her. "What might this 'Thing' be?"

"Can you do that again? But just, like this-" Sanford put on a pucker to his lips. "Show me how you do that."

She blinked, and, fighting with the mass of her chops again- she eventually angled her head lower, and 'Puckered' the tip of her snout.

It looked so... Weird.

These friggin' 'Kissy lips'- on a biogenetic reptilian beast.

Who thought of this insanity?

"...I think that's unbelievable," He laughed. "Look at that..."

"Why?" She fixed her face, smiling. "Why is that funny, Sanford? It's the best I can do."

"-I'm not saying it's bad, I think it's funny, ehm... AMAZING, that you can do that... Your mouth wasn't built... for it..."

"...Oh..."

"-B-But I like it!" He encouraged. "Do it again, and come here."

"...Sur'."

Recreating the pose as instructed- she angled down to him again- and even with all the effort she was making, he could see the tension in her expression, the way her face tightened up. It was exciting, in a way.

Sanford experimented with her- he pressed against her, and instantly, he was overcome with this lightheaded feeling... Because it felt so odd for him.

The oral connection with that woman, Jess, in Diamond had been an alien event to his senses- but this, THIS, was completely outlandish, in fact, Sanford got a little lightheaded just partaking in it- though, that might have had something to do with the lack of oxygen after a bit. Didn't matter.

Nyx was making a sound he had never heard from her before- it was a rumbling reverberation, almost like a purr- since when did Deathclaws do that? Maybe she was the only one. Didn't matter.

So far, the last month had been amazing, it had been insane, it had been worse than a pair of handcuffs- but here, and now, tonight, none of that mattered.

-Thus, Sanford Tobs slowly detached his lips from the bunched tip of her snout, and he smiled at her heavy-looking, little yellow eyes, his shoulders hopped in a deep laugh, and he pulled her as close as he could, hooking his arms over her scaly, larger waist.

She unbunched her chops and laughed with him- her long, crocodilian head lowering to lean against him once more- and they both just sat there, on the makeshift excuse of a bench, before the lights outside of Sanford's fake Eiffel Tower, and they enjoyed each other.

Sanford detached one of his hands from her hips, and he held it by their sides- and in moments she had her larger fingers intertwined with it there.

"...I can't get Hancock's little comment out of my head." Sanford's laughter was still in his voice. "Worse than a pair of handcuffs, you remember when he said that?

"Oui', I do, mon cher'."

"What do you think?"

"It was worth every bullet, every fight, and every hardship."

"You mean that, Nyx?"

"I do, Sanford."

The Deathclaw bunched her chops up again- and she kissed him for a second time.

The world may have been dead, his parents may have been a lie to him, to the Commonwealth- and a fight that he was uncertain of was just around the corner with the most powerful people in the post-apocalyptic world.

But Sanford Tobs was a happy, happy man in his little gas station, with his two best friends in this insane, irradiated, fallout-ridden planet that used to be the throne of mankind's splendor.

He had found the people who had given him life- and while the result had not been what he had wished for, it put his mind to rest. He had ensured the safety of the loud-mouthed robot that was his only friend for the last decade, and he had secured this... Passion, he would call it, with Nyx, and he loved it.

He loved the feelings he got from tonight, from the relief, the clear mind... He loved her, too.

And- most importantly, he agreed with her.

-It was all insane, deadly, dangerous, exciting, daring, scary, amazing, arduous... Worse than a pair of handcuffs, and he'd do it all again, and again, and again.

As a small boy, one day he had heard the loudest, muffled bang.

It was an explosion, sharp, and echoing, that reverberated down the streets of his urban development, bounced off the aluminum shed his father had built behind the house, and shook all the US Army models on his nightstand.

It was a sound, that was completely foreign to his sheltered life, and thus, it was a sound, that in his youth, had terrified him as the merits of propaganda would enact.

-As a full grown man, he forgot about that explosion completely for the first time in his life in the very world it had wrought.

He didn't see the bloom of nuclear detonation in Nyx's eyes anymore- he saw a bright light.

They both parted from each other's eyes to stare out at the little cardboard and wire Eiffel Tower, and they imagined a pre-War cityscape of Paris together.

* * *

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 _ **~FIN~**_

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	64. Sequel Is Up

_**'Worse than 2 pairs of Handcuffs' is on Chapter 1, if you're interested-**_

s/12334078/1/Worse-than-2-pairs-of-Handcuffs


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